Pegasus
by lembas7
Summary: The Pegasus Galaxy is the brightest frontier, and the most dangerous. All those who travel there know the risks, and are dedicated to their mission. But for one man, journeying to Atlantis is the only way to keep a promise. Crossover with Van Helsing.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This is a crossover, between Van Helsing and SG: Atlantis. I decided to put it here because it is very much an Atlantis fic focused on a character who, quite frankly, could be there. Inspired by trecebo, a faithful reviewer since practically the beginning. I was thrown this challenge, and my first reaction was – "Gosh, a connection b/w VH and Stargate: Atlantis. Weird. Random. But I can see it." When I woke this morning to find myself calculating degrees of separation b/w Carl, and a descendant who would journey to Atlantis, this was born. This is a stand-alone, but some allusions will make more sense if you've read LAEVA DEI, PERDITOR and ASCENDING ANGELS – however, none of that is necessary, of course.

**Disclaimer:** None of the characters or premises from the TV series Stargate: Atlantis, or the movie Van Helsing, are mine. Somehow, saying "the plot bunnies made me do it!" seems like a cop-out. But they did.

PEGASUS

It was incredible.

He had seen it in action, years and years ago, and had marveled at it then. More recently, he had been through it, traveling to and within another galaxy. Each time he saw it, a frisson of feeling, both fear and awe, shivered through his bones. The Stargate.

Awe, because of what mankind – after a fashion, of course – had created and achieved. Fear, because they truly knew so little about the forces with which they were playing. He was afraid for them.

Most of the time, he hid these feelings behind a casual mask. He was no longer Gabriel Van Helsing. That name had been given up after he had spoken with an unusual, broad-minded novelist decades ago. It was simply too . . . memorable. Brahm had changed almost nothing from the story the hunter had spun. Now, he was Gabriel Venner, a thirty-something SF with the required skills to get him to Atlantis, and none of the detriments necessary to keep him out. Friendship with a scientist, so long ago, had rubbed many things off on him.

Not so surprisingly, Gabriel was also an expert with computers. He turned his hand to everything he could, with varying degrees of success. It was necessary to forge the proper identity papers that he found he needed, every couple of decades or so. He had hunted, over the years, and honed his mind as well. New skills were necessary to survival with every passing era.

But that was not his concern now. Now, he only had a promise to fulfill.

Which was why he was crouched, P-90 tucked securely under his arm, behind a barely-there outcropping in the wall, seeking what cover he could. "Teyla's IDC," came a loud voice from up in the control center. It was the team he was waiting for. Now, he only needed to see . . .

Sheppard burst through the wormhole, supporting a sagging Lt. Ford. Teyla was not far behind, and a dirtied Dr. McKay was the last through. Gabriel breathed a silent, relieved sigh. "Shut it down!" yelled Sheppard.

With a dying of the light, the wormhole snapped out of existence, taking the mesmerizing, silver-blue glow of the event horizon with it. But not before the blast of a stun weapon spattered the event horizon, and splashed harmlessly against the wall, nearly hitting one of the other SF's on duty. The man scrambled back, unhurt, but everyone was belatedly jolted to battle readiness despite the fact that the threat was gone. It was a moment more before Gabriel could truly relax.

Dr. Weir, head of Atlantis, moved from the control room to survey the arriving team. She watched as Dr. Beckett and his team raced forward, and the SF's fell back. It was just another day in the City of the Ancients – one that thankfully ended without disaster. Sheppard, on the ground, saw her watching and shook his head. Weir's unsurprised reaction told Gabriel everything he needed to know. No ZPM then, and more wraith. The scenario was becoming increasingly familiar.

Gabriel watched the medics around Ford as they worked calmly, and then turned his attention in turn to each member of the team. Years upon years ago, Carl had extracted a promise from him, to look over his son. Gabriel had taken his duty to heart, and it had led him to another galaxy, in order to protect his friend's great-grandson.

There were few who walked the earth that knew who and what Gabriel truly was. Each of them was family, in a way, and bound to a similar fate; Ben and Ned, and the Jonses. But in this era, Gabriel knew that seeing was tantamount to believing. He could not expect to be believed unless he showed something to prove what he was saying. That could never happen. The repercussions would be immense, innumerable, and mostly for the worst, not just for him. So he grew adept at weaving stories when he needed to, becoming accustomed to clouding the truth and showing people nothing more than they expected to see. And in all things, he kept his promise.

He couldn't be on the same team as the man – that would blow his cover sky-high, and bring him much-unwanted attention. So he settled for protecting Rodney McKay as best he could, and at times that meant protecting the man's team, and even the whole of Atlantis. It was much different than the duty he had upheld on Earth – no lighter, but more difficult in such a small community. He was challenged, for the first time in many years.

Lost in his thoughts and the familiarity of routine, Gabriel didn't see the man before him until they had both been knocked sprawling to the ground. The hunter gained his feet first, and offered the other a hand. He hefted the grumbling man to his feet, and was surprised to come face to face with Rodney McKay. It had probably been bound to happen sooner or later – he worked, as always, from a distance, and thus in reality didn't know the man outside of his reputation. Up close, he noticed that Rodney had his great-grandfather's eyes, and something of his cocksure confidence.

"Watch where you're going next time," McKay berated him absently. The man's attention was on the pack he had dropped, which had split open along the seam.

"Sorry, Dr. McKay," Gabriel Venner answered. He crouched to help the man pick up fallen items, listening with one ear and half a smile as the scientist continued to rip him one for his clumsiness.

Sheppard came up behind McKay, and stared in impatient amusement. "Rodney. What happened?"

Private Venner shot to his feet, managing a salute despite the fact that his hands were full of miscellaneous items, including clothes, scientific equipment, and power bars.

"This clumsy oaf knocked me down, and the pack just -" he began indignantly.

Sheppard rolled his eyes. "Well, I'm sure Private . . ."

"Venner," Gabriel supplied, quickly recognizing the prompt as the Major's eyes searched his uniform for identification.

"Private Venner is sorry. Private?" Sheppard asked, more to get the scientist moving to the debriefing than anything else.

"Yes sir," Gabriel answered, a smile on his lips. Despite his higher ranking, the Major was a few years younger than the Private appeared to be. Sheppard noted the expression coolly, but his face softened when he realized that it was a true accident, not another example of the military snubbing the civilians, as happened much too frequently for his tastes.

"There. See? Come on."

"Hmph. Well -"

Sheppard lost patience, pushing the complaining scientist in front of him. Their conversation echoed down the hall, and Private Venner was quickly forgotten. Gabriel smiled. It seemed the rumors were true, then, and Rodney McKay had a bit of a sharp edge that Carl had not. He was a man made harder by life, but he demanded the best from himself and his coworkers and brooked no nonsense.

It would be several weeks later before he would see Dr. McKay in close quarters again.

A virus had been discovered running rampant in Atlantis, wreaking havoc and spreading death within hours. Gabriel, one of the nameless faces who guarded the civilians of Atlantis, was present with the group which discovered the area of the virus' escape and quarantined themselves off. He stayed in the background, and when the infected woman brushed by him, it was of no notice.

He sat back, and observed. An hour or so later, his head spun slightly, and black shadows swooped in and out of his vision, before fading away. Disease meant nothing to him; he was safe.

But he could do nothing to help – this type of science was far beyond his relatively sparse medical knowledge. When Rodney was infected, however, he tensed as he watched events unfold. His promise was clear in his mind.

He did wait, however, and was later thankful for the patience that millennia of life had taught him. Most things on Earth worked themselves out, without interference from him. Life was simply like that. The Ancient gene that seemed so important in this new place came into play once more, the saving grace of the new inhabitants of Atlantis.

Gabriel himself did not posses the gene – he was from a time much earlier than such things. He frequently found himself irritated at it, however. He had been covertly exploring the city since their arrival, since he wasn't a member of any of the outgoing teams. The Ancients had keyed their technology to the gene, and when he couldn't get somewhere or do something because of that fact, he had only two options. If his computer expertise couldn't gain him access, he was left with simple brute force, which was much harder to explain away. Luckily, he didn't have to resort to the second option all that frequently.

The hunter's relief at the elimination of this new threat was only matched by his annoyance at the follow-up protocol. Dr. Beckett, concerned by the implications of inadvertent biological warfare, began a series of mandatory physical examinations of each of the Atlantis personnel. Gabriel's number was drawn among the first group to receive once-overs. He quietly endured the nurse's poking and prodding, watching carefully as she drew his blood and labeled it.

A shortish man with dark hair and a ready smile approached his bed, doing rounds. "Gabe, it's good ta see ye," said Beckett, his Scottish accent softly marking each word he said.

Venner grinned. He knew Beckett, from the time he spent in the medical ward; not as a patient, simply as a friend. Accompanied by a battered checkers board, he would sit and speak with the bed-bound members of the Atlantis crew, listening to them and losing at checkers. He claimed he did it to improve his game, but his real reason was much more elusive. Sometimes, patients needed to be drawn outside themselves, away from their pain and the immediacy of their condition. He helped, as best he could, making friends along the way.

"How are ye feelin'?" Beckett continued, picking up his chart and scanning it.

"Fine," Gabe answered truthfully.

"I see your chart says that you've had all ye're required vaccinations," Beckett continued. Gabe nodded, familiar with the routine. Beckett asked several questions about allergy history, and seemed amused when Gabe answered, quite seriously, that he'd had bad reactions to St. John's Wort in the past. Beckett's response was that they'd be hardly likely to find any in this galaxy, but he noted it in the chart.

After Gabriel was finished, carefully upholding the fabric of half-truths with which he wove all his stories, he found himself the subject of gentle scrutiny from the doctor.

"I've noticed you in here, more than once," Beckett began slowly, his drawl pronounced. "D'ye mind tellin' me why?"

Gabe smiled, a little. "I want to help, when I can," he answered seriously. "And . . ." he hesitated, but the doctor's kindly smile had its intended effect. "And there's a question I need answered," Gabriel finished.

"What's that?" Beckett was openly curious now.

"Whether it's worth it." He needed to know, for himself alone. He wanted to see if the sacrifice, the effort, equaled the loss of so many precious, fragile lives.

The response had Beckett retreating to a thoughtful silence. "And?"

Gabriel seemed to measure his response. "Sometimes it isn't. Sometimes it is." He shrugged, after all just a thirty-something SF, doing what he could to help. "And it helps me improve my game," he finished, lightening the mood considerably.

Beckett smiled, accepting the flip answer and shutting his folder with a snap. "Well, ye're in the peak of health so far as I can tell," he told the Private. "If there's anything amiss in your test results we'll have ye back here, but for now, you're dismissed."

Gabe snapped a sharp salute and hopped off the bed, pulling on his clothes and exiting the infirmary with a thoughtful crease lining his brow.

Two days later, Dr. Beckett was finishing his filing for the first group, when he realized that he was coming up one short on bloodwork results. He hadn't noticed it in his first and second examinations of the files. Carson flipped through pages of results, until he found out who he was missing. "Jen?" he called the nurse, yet again double-checking his pile of paperwork.

The young nurse turned to him. "Yes?"

"What happened to the bloodwork results for Gabriel Venner?"

"Venner?" she asked blankly.

Beckett frowned. His staff was not normally this forgetful. "Yes, Venner."

Jen checked the racks of vials, and after a moment called back, "Did he come in for a physical with the first group?"

"Yes. That's why I'm missing his bloodwork," Carson explained patiently.

Jen shrugged, tugging at her brown ponytail in sheepish consternation. "We must have skipped him, then."

Carson frowned, the memory of seeing a band-aid on the man's arm standing out clearly. "I'm sure he had a blood sample taken," he answered certainly. "Could it have gotten lost?"

Jen flushed, red staining her cheeks as she faced him. "It's possible."

Carson sighed. "Don't worry about it, then," he told her soothingly. "We'll simply call him back and retake the sample."

The first Gabriel found out about it was when he entered the commissary the following morning. Grabbing a tray and piling some food on it, he was on his way to sit with some of the other SF's when Beckett intercepted him. "Morning, Gabe," the Scotsman said cheerfully.

"Good morning, Doc," Gabriel replied.

Beckett wasted no time. "Could ye come down to the infirmary after you've eaten? It seems we've misplaced your blood sample, and I need another."

Gabriel nodded, hiding the foreboding churning in his gut. "'Course."

Beckett smiled. "I'll see you in an hour, then."

Gabriel nodded once more, and kept the smile on his face, waving away the questions of the others at the table with ease. All the while, his head was spinning wildly. It must be the Ancient gene again. He could have growled with frustration. He had easily been able to sneak out his blood sample, removing the memory of its existence before destroying it. But somehow, something had not gone quite right. The only explanation he had for this rare occurrence was the gene – and it explained much, down through the centuries.

He was still irritated at the phenomenon when he arrived at the infirmary, though the emotion was easily mistaken for something else.

"Don't ye worry," Beckett said as he removed the needle, unwrapping the tight rubber tubing constricting Gabriel's bicep. Gabe bent his elbow, holding the cotton ball in place to staunch the small puncture. "I'll examine this myself, and we'll have everything sorted out in no time."

Just what he didn't need, the hunter grumped. It was well-known that Beckett was one of the few who originally had the Ancients gene, as opposed to those who had undergone the gene therapy. Stories of his first disastrous encounter with the control chair, back in Antarctica, were common knowledge. If things went downhill, he decided, he would play dumb. Beckett was bound by the Hippocratic Oath to patient confidentiality, and unlike some, he took it seriously. Not that that would mean anything should he discover something . . . unusual. But having a civilian in charge of the Atlantis site meant that, despite the fact that Sheppard was his commanding officer, he could be sure of receiving some rights. If worse came to worst . . . it wouldn't be the first time that faking his own death would get him out of a tricky situation.

These were the thoughts that occupied him as he left, knowing he would much rather be somewhere else than eavesdropping on Beckett's work. The man would find nothing that Gabriel himself didn't already know.

He was right, in more ways than one.

A few hours later, Beckett was utterly puzzled by what he was seeing, an infrequent occurrence. He double-checked the chart next to him, and decided to try a small experiment. One lab test led to another, each yielding results more improbable than the rest. What Beckett was seeing . . . it was impossible.

Despite the record of vaccinations sitting on the table beside him, he could see no evidence of the appropriate antibodies at work anywhere in Venner's blood. Instead, each virus he tested against the blood was destroyed in moments, the originals and the mutants gobbled up by an utterly remarkable immune system. It was like nothing he had ever seen before. Curiosity led him to even test the blood against the newly-discovered virus, and he found the same strange occurrence. What made it even more remarkable was the fact that – he rechecked his notes to be certain – Venner did not posses the Ancient gene. Surprised that this had gone unnoticed for so long, a wild thought occurred to him that froze him to his seat for a long moment. When he recovered from the thought that set his heart racing, he took a vial of cultured cells from the refrigerator. Brain whirling in hope and anticipation, he prepared the slide, and peered into the lens. This last experiment left him utterly dumbfounded.

Still processing what he had witnessed within his microscope, Beckett wrote up a report on it, and made his way to Dr. Weir's office.

"Carson," she looked up from her papers to see the doctor hovering in the doorway, a bit pale and clutching a file-folder. A frown creased her features. "Is something wrong?"

"I need to talk to ye," Beckett blurted, coming forward several paces and dropping the folder on the desk. Weir stared at it, for only a second or two before the agitated doctor became the focus of her attention. "Sit down," she invited him. Beckett took her up on the offer, not so much sitting as falling into the chair.

"Read it," he told her stiffly.

She picked up the folder, and began to read. After long moments of silence, her eyes lifted to his. "What are you trying to say?"

He stood then, pacing restlessly back and forth in front of her desk. "All that's in the report, and more. I can't believe this – I tested his blood against the HIV/AIDS virus, and the virus was completely obliterated. In seconds! This man has the cure for every known disease swimming in his veins."

"That's incredible," Elizabeth murmured.

"I've set up cultures," Beckett continued, his hands moving wildly. "I'll be checking them in a few days, but the results so far are utterly unbelievable. And that's not all."

"There's more?" Dr. Weir was still trying to process the information, staring at the folder.

At this, Beckett had to sit once more. "I had a crazy idea," he admitted forthrightly. "I wanted to test the blood against cultured wraith cells."

"What happened?" Elizabeth was careful to keep her interest muted, seeing Beckett's open distress.

"The cells were destroyed, in the same manner as the viruses. I accidentally spilled some of the blood on the wraith's flesh – it acted as a corrosive agent, somehow eating away at the skin."

"That's -"

"Impossible," Beckett finished for her. He threw up his hands, settling back in the chair. "I can't explain it."

"Does this medical miracle have a name?" Weir asked intently.

Beckett's face was shadowed for a moment, the fight between his oath and the greater good this man might be able to make possible, showing clearly on his face. With a flash of insight, Weir thought it must be something like a priest who had to decide whether or not to break the sanctity of confession, when a murderer professed his sins.

Carson finally answered, unhappiness at his decision marked clearly on his face. "Gabriel Venner."

(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(

Bear with me, please. I've been attacked by a plot bunny, and though my rabies shots are up-to-date, I'm finding it hard not to succumb. Besides, I haven't found a decent one of these yet, and ever since I was thrown the idea, I kinda wanted to be the first.


	2. Chapter 2

Weir put down the folder she was reading, and regarded it thoughtfully for a moment. Beckett had long since subsided into silence, and was staring listlessly out one of the windows behind her, chewing a thumbnail.

"All right," she said at last. Carson's attention jerked back to her. "What can we do about it?"

The Scottish doctor sat up, leaning forward. "Not much," he admitted forthrightly.

"How so?"

"I have no idea how this is possible," Beckett told her, clasping his hands together. "Proper research and study to fully understand this phenomenon and replicate it would be decades at the least. Anything less would be foolish, and dangerous."

Unspoken, the inoculation of the Hoffans filled the space between them. Fifty percent mortality rate was unacceptable to the new Atlanteans, though others might have found it reasonable.

"I understand," Weir nodded her agreement, reaching up to push wayward tendrils of hair back from her face. "Do you think Private Venner has any idea of just how unique his blood is?"

Carson shrugged. The man still looked uncomfortable about his betrayal of his patient's unknowing confidence. Beckett was a good man, and Weir briefly regretted forcing him into the decision. "I doubt it – he's had all his vaccinations and more than probably has put his good health down to luck. Some people do have healthier immune systems than others. It's just the way the world works."

"Luck, indeed," Weir murmured. She sighed. "I want you to work on this," she told him. "But if the chances are as slim as you estimate, then it would be senseless for this to take top priority when there's so much new knowledge from the Ancients that we have easier, faster access to. If you could put it on your list?" she asked quietly, knowing how much the doctor had on his plate.

"A pet project?" Carson asked, the gleam of interest in his eyes.

Weir nodded, choosing her next words carefully and trusting to Beckett's discretion. "I don't think the whole of Atlantis needs to know the solution may have been born on Earth, instead of within Pegasus. It could create – problems."

She didn't need to say Kavanagh's name. The supercilious scientist with his morally questionable ideas and blatant promotion of self-interest would be among the loudest clamoring for experimentation on one of their own. If the man could gather any support, control could spiral out of Elizabeth's hands should a situation arise, and there was no doubt that it would end badly.

"Try to get Venner to cooperate with you on his own," she continued. "I don't have the authority to do so, and I don't want Sheppard involved."

Carson was a little surprised at this decision to keep the head of the premier Atlantis team out of the loop, and Weir read his expression correctly. "If John takes a hand in convincing Venner to work with you, there is no way anything he says can be construed as anything but an order," she explained. "The military has control over its own, but forcing a man to let his body be used in experiments brings us too close to those we oppose."

Beckett nodded slowly, once again thankful that all he had to do was treat them, and not negotiate with them. Military. He shook his head. Medicine was beautifully clear-cut that way. "And I'd like to speak with Venner," she added, as Carson stood to get up.

"Now?"

Now, while John's team was offworld, was the perfect time to meet this man.

It took nearly a half-hour for him to be discreetly found by a member of the control-room staff, appointed by Weir to find the SF.

When he arrived in her office, his clothes were sweat-stained and he was flushed with exertion. "I'm sorry I'm so late, Dr. Weir," he began. "I didn't know you wanted to see me."

"I found him working out in an empty room in the southwest pier of the city," the tech murmured in a low explanation.

"Thank you," Elizabeth dismissed the man, and turned her attention to Venner. The man was tall and darkly handsome, his black hair short but shaggy, soon in need of a trim. Angular features were accentuated by a thin, bladed nose. His eyes were a light hazel, strangely golden in the sun. Even sitting down, eyes lowered, he had a commanding, riveting presence. Weir spared a moment to wonder why he was in the bottom ranks, before she began questioning him.

"What were you doing there?" she asked him as soon as the door closed behind the departing technician.

Hazel eyes rose to meet hers, and she could see the defiance and will in them. The man missed nothing – his gaze flicked from her to Beckett and back. "Sometimes I need to be alone, to think," he answered quietly. "The southwestern part of the city is less . . . overrun with people." White teeth flashed in a quick smile.

Weir sat forward, clasping her hands on her desktop. "You do know that we haven't explored most of the city, and that we don't want anyone wandering around alone, for their own safety and that of Atlantis. I don't think I need to remind you of the rules outlining habitable areas, or of the several incidents that have occurred when someone stumbled over something best left alone." Her voice was hard, unyielding. The safety of Atlantis was her prime concern, and finding that someone had been making light of the restrictions she placed to keep her people secure did not sit well with her.

"I was on downtime," Venner pointed out mildly. "This section of the city had already been scouted several times, during the initial exploration of Atlantis and later, after the city rose from the sea. It simply wasn't used. I touched nothing, used the same route to and from, and went nowhere other than that room."

Weir held her tongue. Venner finished calmly, showing no sign that her anger upset him in the least, yet answered respectfully. She was intrigued by the fact that, just as she was measuring him, through his answers and actions, so was he too discreetly assessing her. She had little contact with the military; they were all under Sheppard's command, and he listened to her wishes and advice when it came to Atlantis. Mostly. It was no surprise that she had never seen this man before, though when he had walked into the room she recognized his stance. He was one of the faceless bodies which were mostly seen from the control room above; the man guarded the Stargate.

"Nevertheless," she said once she was certain he was finished. "I don't want you using that area of the city until it has been fully scouted out, and a report has been filled out to me. Is that understood?"

Venner seemed to think for a moment, before he finally nodded. "Yes, ma'am." So. This one did not subscribe to the military theory Weir saw stereotyped so often; that of unquestioning, thoughtless obedience to the hierarchy of rank. Despite the defiance he displayed, she felt she might like him. A humorous thought struck her, and she wondered how many times Sheppard had come up against this man. On first glance the two were very different, yet she had the sense that they were also similar in the most important ways – and that was bound to irritate John, at least.

"Ma'am?" Venner asked into the pause. "Am I dismissed?"

She smiled. "I did not call you here to reprimand you, Private Venner," she told him.

"Ma'am?" The confusion now, and the more searching glance aimed at Dr. Beckett. But his eyes had shuttered, and she could no longer read this enigmatic man's emotions. Curious.

"Dr. Beckett has brought something to my attention that I felt was necessary to speak with you about," she told him, and handed a folder to him.

He noted his name on the cover, glanced at her, and opened it. The silence as he read was thick, and surprise slowly colored his features as he perused the papers within. "There's been a mistake," he said quietly, once he was done. He closed the folder and set it gently on the desk. "That's – not possible."

But the words were stiff, almost as if he knew it must be true.

"Have you ever had bloodwork done at a lab, back on Earth, Gabe?" asked Beckett suddenly.

The man shook his head certainly. "There was no need," he said clearly.

Beckett asked, even more gently, "Have you ever been sick?"

Venner shrugged.

"Private?" Elizabeth probed.

The man sat straighter, eyes focused on the wall over her shoulder as he rapped out, "I don't believe so, ma'am."

Surprised by his automatic reversion to military protocol and its protection, she sat back. He didn't move. "At ease," she told him quietly. "This isn't an interrogation."

"Then what is it, ma'am?" he met her eyes squarely, but she saw no fear in him.

"A request." Her answer clearly surprised him. "By some stroke of luck, divine will, whatever you want to call it, you hold in your blood a means that we might be able to use to defeat the wraith." His eyes grew cold at that, but she plowed on. "It's incredible. A miracle, if you want to use the word. But there are certain problems that also arise with it."

His expression was set and unreadable. But he listened as Carson took over for her.

"For me to study everything that's going on in your system would take a lifetime or two," the doctor said gently. "I don't know if we could ever even hope to replicate whatever it is that makes you so unique. From what I can tell now, it's a fundamental difference at the cellular level. Even Ancient technology might not be able to do anything to copy or reproduce that type of difference."

Venner's face relaxed at that, and he began to look a little interested.

"I just want to work with you," Carson told him. "Some of your time, when you're off duty. Just to see if I can figure anything out. I promise, no one else needs to know of it; it would be under doctor-patient confidentiality. Nothing will be done to you without your consent."

A measure of relief that the man couldn't hide slid over his features and was just as quickly gone, but Venner looked to Weir for confirmation. She nodded, and wondered what would prompt such a strong emotion. Beckett might be able to find out.

"I'd like if this arrangement remained between us for the time being," Weir said quietly.

Venner's face hardened. "Sheppard?"

Weir looked at him intently. "In this instance, he doesn't need to know. I'd also like to avoid making this . . . development public knowledge. There could be problems."

The man was not stupid. "Kavanagh," he muttered. From the expression on his face, Weir could see that he had had a run in with the obnoxious scientist.

"Among other possible threats, yes," she told him.

"Wraith?" he asked, almost rhetorically.

"That's where things get interesting," Beckett interjected. He proceeded to tell Venner of the reaction the man's blood had had with the wraith cells, the preserved skin.

"No one's immune from those things," Venner replied with skeptic certainty. Beckett began to protest, and the SF raised his hands placatingly. "I have no desire to get close enough to one of those things to prove either of us right, Doc."

"Amen," said Elizabeth quietly. She looked at Venner, still composed despite his pale silence, incredulity clear in his eyes. Whether he was unable to believe them about the wraith, or about the fact that he would have a decision in this, was still a mystery. "Take some time," Elizabeth said abruptly. "Think it over. When you've let Dr. Beckett know what you want to do, he'll inform me."

"Thank you," Venner replied thoughtfully. His wariness, though he tried to hide it, was evident. "I will."

"This conversation does not leave this room," Weir finished, not that she needed to tell either man.

"Conversation, ma'am? What conversation?" Venner asked, his air one of questioning innocence.

She couldn't help her smile at his attempt at humor. "Dismiss."

With a salute, the man was gone, the door closing quietly behind him.

"What do you think?" she asked Beckett, who moved around from behind her to drop into the chair Venner had just occupied. "You've spoken with him before."

Beckett shrugged. "Only in passing. He plays checkers with my patients, sometimes, and talks to them."

"His friends?" Weir wanted to know more about this man, to know what he would choose.

Beckett shrugged. "Anyone. He has a gift with people, even the ones who are so logged in their own misery that they barely notice him at first. I don't know if he truly realizes how much he does for them. He just wants to help, and between us, he does a damn fine job at it."

"Do you think he'll help us, then?"

Carson could only look at her. "I hope so."

Weir nodded and the two sat in silence for a moment, their thoughts turned to the future and the surprising new possibility that had presented itself in the form of a man neither would have given a second glance to in passing. After a few moments, Beckett rose and excused himself, needing to return to his work and hoping for time alone to think.

When Beckett approached his infirmary, he found Gabriel waiting for him, slouched against a wall, out of sight of the main care area. He was surprised at seeing the man there so soon, and it showed in his voice. "Have you made a decision yet?" Scrutinizing the other's closed expression, he didn't think so.

In confirmation of his suspicions, Venner shook his head and said simply, "I want to see – I need to see for myself."

"Ah. Of course."

A few moments later, a fresh vial of blood sat next to a microscope. Venner, comfortable on the small chair despite his height, was gazing intently into the microscope as Beckett explained what he was seeing. For a few hours, they spoke quietly, and Beckett was a little amazed at the man's knowledge. For a thirty-something SF, living by the gun and taking his life into his hands, the man had an astonishing breadth of knowledge.

He left the soldier with the appropriate tools, and returned to his work, checking on the other man every so often. Each time he did, the dark head was bent over the microscope or the slides, working.

Not long after, his attention was diverted by the arrival of two individuals; someone he'd expected, and someone he'd never met. Beckett learned that her name was Chaya, and was given her permission to examine her. Sheppard was never far off, and it was clear that something was going on between them. Sparks flew whenever they were in the room with each other, but Rodney seemed wary of the emotion arcing between the two.

A moment left unattended, however, and Chaya vanished within the infirmary. Her momentary disappearance was unnoticed.

She sensed something. It almost felt like another of her kind, but different. It was older, much, much older. And filled with a glowing strength far beyond what she had thought possible. Rounding the corner, she saw a man bent over some instruments on a table, studying something intently. He did not seem to notice her. Chaya took a step forward.

"Who are you?" he asked, never diverting his attention from the microscope.

"Chaya," she answered, her voice low as she studied him.

"Athar," he rebuked gently, finally turning to look at her. Hearing her true name, she froze, meeting his gaze.

She gasped at the wisdom in his eyes, the age and power shining in his face. Then it was gone, and he was just a man again. Nothing like Sheppard, and she was wary of him. "Who are you?"

Then he laughed, a rich, thrilling sound. "Do not fear, child. I am not one of your peers, come to chastise you for breaking a rule." He made it sound so inconsequential; it had been her ultimate undoing. "And I am not what you fear, one of the higher powers come to take an interest in your world. I am older than that."

"Older?" she asked carefully, suspicion darkening her beautiful features.

"I was here before the making of the universe. I will exist beyond its breaking." There was no doubting that voice, certain in its power. Chaya did not shiver before it – years of solitude, protecting her own people, had made her stronger than that. But she did turn her eyes away, and nod.

"I see." But she didn't, really.

And he knew it. "You may, one day."

However, dabbling in higher powers like ascension meant she saw a little, and she had to ask. "Does he know that his salvation does not lie on some far distant planet? That it sits here in Atlantis, hidden within his own home?"

The man's face was cold. "Sheppard? No."

"Why not?" she challenged, spurred on by the emotion she felt for the man. Love was a bright and beautiful thing, one that had pushed wiser beings than her into folly.

"Your people have laws about interference, Athar," he murmured, a dangerous note in his voice. Golden eyes flashed with hot emotion, quickly subdued.

"You are older than that!" she protested, feeling a flush rise in her cheeks.

"But not older than law. I am here to interfere – yes. But not that way. There is one law, one I dare not break. Not for any punishment I might receive, but for what it would do to them. Free will, above all else, is precious. What right have I to take it away?"

Put like that, it made more sense than the non-interference rules preached by the Ancients, and she felt closer to understanding. Shame filled her at the thoughts that statement stirred, and she hid the emotion away, turning her mind to other things.

The rest of the words they spoke were short, as he seemed to know who and what she was at a mere glance. He was inscrutable to her, however, and she wondered at herself. The power she had thought she held, had thought to control. . . The Ancients reprimanded the Tau'ri for being young, and toying with dangerous beings and technologies, but how were they any different? They played with a power they professed to understand; yet when looking at this man, she could see that they knew almost nothing. It gave her something to think on, yet she pushed it to the back of her mind. The future was now, with Sheppard. For a short time.

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Now you see why this is more Atlantis than anything. Don't worry; we'll be getting further into Atlantis as it goes on... I finally have this dang plot bunny sorted out.


	3. Chapter 3

Gabriel left Weir's office, slipping out in the morning rush of control-room activity with a silent sigh. He had taken three days to make his decision. Things had turned out much better than he had planned. Once he had agreed to work with Beckett, Weir's attention had finally turned from him to her premier team. Carson was not demanding, easily accommodating Venner's schedule and whatever glitches came up in the rotation. He was guardedly enthusiastic about the work, yet unfailingly polite to the SF. Not once did Gabriel receive the impression that he was just a project, or a lab rat. He wrinkled his nose at the phrase.

Personally, Gabriel knew that the technology needed to replicate his – condition was the word Beckett had used – did not and could never exist. Mere mortality was never meant to recreate the Word of God. It kept them busy, however, and most importantly his story was not in question, which meant his cover was safe.

That day, the teams were scheduled for one of their routine forays into the city. Every so often, those living in Atlantis had the leisure to put aside 'gate travel and explore their new home. Gabriel welcomed these trips, because he craved knowledge about this new place. Thousands upon thousands of years on one planet meant intimate knowledge of all its nooks and crannies, ever-changing and vast as it was. The universe was open to him now, and for the first time in ages Gabriel again knew awe at the wonders God had created.

The expedition went without a hitch, yielding rooms and corridors, labs and something that looked to the untrained eye like a music library. It turned the hunter's thoughts to his own quarters for a moment, and his one personal effect. Jerking his thoughts to the here and now, Gabe completed the scouting mission, following his team back to the secured areas of the city.

When he walked past the infirmary, he discovered that something of much more import than a library had been found by Sheppard's team. Hours upon hours after the morning briefing, the premier team had uncovered something shocking – a survivor of the city, entombed in a stasis chamber. Speculation on who and what she might be was cut short when the elderly woman woke.

Gabriel loitered purposefully outside the room, listening carefully to the conversation within for several long moments. When he felt he knew enough, he returned to duty and the rumors floating through the halls of Atlantis.

It was when they left, for one of their many infernal meetings, that Gabriel approached the old woman in the Infirmary.

Word was, she was an Ancient who had been left behind. He smiled at that. This woman was completely human, just hobbled by age. Her eyes blinked open slowly, and she looked at him curiously. "Who are you?" Tiredness was her defining characteristic. Bent by the years, weariness seemed a disease that had lined her face and curled her body. Gabriel smiled gently at her. She was the only being he had ever encountered whose numerical age came anywhere close to his own. Yet she was still a child beside him.

"My name is Gabriel, ma'am," he said politely. His voice was low, but pitched to carry, and she heard him clearly. "How are you?"

She smiled, just a little. "I am tired. That's not so surprising. I am old." She saw the checkers board under his arm, and stared at it for a long time. Gabriel knew that Gabe Vanner should think she had become lost in memories. But when he moved, quietly and carefully, to leave, she coughed and said, "I am not that old."

He smiled. "Would you like a game of checkers, ma'am?"

She stared at him steadily. "I'd thought I'd forgotten how."

"Well, then I'll show you again," he replied equably. As he pulled up a chair and extended her bedside table, setting up the game, she eyed him carefully.

"Shouldn't you be doing something?" The words came from her slowly, but Gabriel had infinite patience.

"I'm on downtime," he replied easily. "And I'm trying to improve my game."

She accepted the answer, and the first move. It was a slow game, and made slower by the fact that Gabriel asked her about her life. She told him, but none of the horror that was of interest to the premier team, none of the information that was so desperately needed by Weir. Instead, she told him of her hopes and dreams, and the love for Simon that she still carried, deep in her heart. Her joy at having changed the future. "I'm so glad," she sighed with a creased smile. "I want to sleep."

He knew that she didn't mean that she needed a nap. "Soon," he promised comfortingly. She pushed a checker, and he lifted it for her, jumping his own pieces. A wry smile crossed his face.

"You really are awful at this game, boy," she told him, casting a shrewd look his way. "Or maybe you're just humoring an old woman."

"No, I really didn't see that move," Gabriel assured her, still frowning at the board. "But I am much better at chess." He was. Checkers was an impetuous game, a game of seizing the moment and risking all. Much like the Atlantis venture, and for many humans, much like life. Chess was strategy, of always being three moves ahead. It required planning, forward and lateral thinking. While Gabriel possessed the patience and tactical skill for chess, he had trouble understanding human impulsiveness. While situations might call for quick decisions, that merely meant that his mind sped up, calculating all possible avenues of choice. Every action he took, swift though it might be, was duly examined and weighed. He was horrible at checkers.

The offhand remark was rewarded with a laugh, slow and painful. When it degraded into a coughing fit, he handed her a tissue and began packing up the board. "I think that's enough for one day," he told her, watching her eyes begin to flutter closed. "I know when I'm beaten."

"Thank you," she whispered lowly.

"For what?" he gently asked, wanting to know the answer.

She smiled, eyes closed. "For listening to an old woman's foibles."

"No, thank you," Gabriel responded sincerely.

It surprised her enough to open her eyes, and stare at him. His hand, large and calloused and resting gently on hers, seemed to spread a warmth through her, bringing with it memories of energy and springtime.

"For what?" Dr. Weir was truly surprised.

His smile was beautiful, she realized. "For a game of checkers."

The next time Dr. Elizabeth Weir woke in the infirmary, it was to see her younger self nearby, with Sheppard hovering in the background. Beckett, McKay, Teyla – some were faces that she had known, had held close as she strived to save them. But she thrilled to know that she had also saved a young man who was terrible at checkers. He had reminded her, when at times she wondered if she had just done this to save herself, that every life was important; no matter how briefly it touched hers, or even if it never did at all. The certainty that they would prevail, accomplish wonderful things, gave her renewed strength. Opening her mouth, Elizabeth Weir began, slowly, to speak.

Gabriel, on the other hand, felt his calm slip towards melancholy as he slipped out of the infirmary, rounding the corner just as Sheppard and his team approached from the opposite direction. Acceptance of the fate of man made loss no easier. In his eyes, each life was precious, and the fading of the souls of humanity brought sorrow to his heart.

Early the next morning, Teyla found herself in the commissary. The older Dr. Weir had died peacefully, and her team had disbanded for now. She was sitting, eating food that did not particularly appeal, when a small commotion in one corner caught her attention.

"Come on," one grunt laughingly teased another. "I've seen you do everything to that guitar with the exception of playing it. Tuning, stringing, damn near babying it. Can you even play?"

"Pete's got you there, Gabe," said a third man. The one they were speaking to had dark hair in need of a cut, and light eyes.

"I guess I've been cornered," the man, Gabe, said mildly as he sat back.

The other two groaned. "Oh, don't start with that again," moaned Pete. He was shorter, blond-haired and green eyed. His features were familiar to Teyla. She remembered seeing his face focused on the wormhole every time she passed through it. He was one of the guards of the Stargate – which meant that the others most likely were as well. "You _always_ say that . . ."

"Just before you manage to slip away to attend to something that can't wait," Dylan continued, picking up the sentence almost before Pete dropped it. He was shorter than the rest, with dark hair, eyes and skin. He leant forward on his elbows, nudging Pete.

The other man gave him a sideways glance before taking a breath. "Dylan and I both think -"

"It stays in my quarters for a reason," Gabe objected steadily. He raised a brow challengingly, and the fourth man, who had so far been silent, contradicted him almost gleefully.

"Not today." He spoke strangely, twisting his words differently than the others, and had obviously been waiting to say that for a long time. But Teyla was much more interested in the large object he ceremoniously pulled out from under the table, where it had been strategically out of Gabe's view.

Dismay was quickly wiped from Gabe's expression. "I should have known," he complained quietly. "It's 0700 and Hank's actually awake."

A snort of laughter came from the man who must be Dylan, as well as some people at a few other tables.

"Let me guess," Gabe continued dryly. "Our discoveries in the southeast quarter of the city yesterday gave you ideas?"

"Eh?" asked Dylan, mischievous eyes trained on his uncomfortable friend.

"Give us more credit than that, please," Pete informed him. Superiority was dripping from every syllable. "This has been a plan in motion for -"

"The month it took you to hack your way into my quarters?"

There was outright laughter at this, and even Teyla smiled at the other men's sheepish expressions.

"That," Hank drawled, "is besides the point." He extended the instrument across the table at Gabe. "Stop stalling. Play."

Gabe took the instrument, and when he shoved his chair back Teyla was not the only one who thought he was about to leave. "Is that an order from my team leader?" the man asked with an unruly smile.

"Yup," Hank answered shamelessly.

"Well then," Gabe murmured, his words nearly lost as he bent over the wooden box in his arms. Teyla stared at it curiously, noting its rounded form and the long stick that held the strings stretched across the gaping hole in the box's belly.

The man cradled the box in his arms, setting his fingers against the strings. With one hand, he strummed the strings, and the other moved up and down the stick, pressing. To Teyla's surprise, a tune came forth. It was cheerful and a few snickers sounded at the table next to her.

The joke was no clearer to the Athosian when Pete began to sing, loudly and discordantly. Teyla winced at the racket. "It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood, oh a beautiful day -"

Dylan lunged forward, clapping a hand over Pete's mouth and muffling the noise. Hank glowered.

"Be happy it wasn't, 'We All Live In A Yellow Submarine'," Gabriel told Hank snidely. Pete, still being determinedly gagged by Dylan, let out a snort.

Though the conversation was interesting, Teyla's food was gone and she left. The incident had vanished from her mind almost before she had departed from the commissary.

But she was reminded of it that night, while eating dinner with Sheppard and Ford. It was something Sheppard occasionally insisted on, and McKay, as usual, was late. There were a few tables pulled out of the way in a corner near the door, clearing a small, empty space. Every so often, over the noise of cutlery and conversation, a chord could be heard, and snatches of a song.

It was only when a young female scientist stepped up, and in a loud, certain voice, began to sing, that noise in the commissary died down. Her voice was strong and clear as she crooned the words, a sad song about spurned love and loss. The instrument came through clearly then, voice and melody floating liquidly over and around each other in a beautiful medley. The song's gradual end was lost to growing applause. After a moment, a more upbeat tune took its place, and feet began tapping around the commissary. A few of the less inhibited began to move to the beat, and any hope of seeing the musician was lost in the whirl of dancing legs.

McKay managed to make his way through the hubbub, plopping his tray of food down at the table with a stunned, affronted expression.

"Chill, Rodney," Sheppard advised with a half-smile.

"It's completely ridiculous," McKay huffed. He picked up his fork, and spoke around his first bite. "Bedlam."

"I do not understand," Teyla asked, her confusion evident.

"Some joker with a guitar -"

"Guitar?" She interrupted McKay, wondering at the word.

"It's an instrument," Ford supplied helpfully. "It makes music."

"Someone brought an instrument, and now they're kicking back, relaxing," Sheppard replied lazily. He seemed to be bobbing his head slightly in time with the tune.

"Is this not a good thing?" she questioned.

"It's annoying," McKay retorted, his mouth full.

"Don't listen to him," Sheppard instructed. He pointed with his fork to the group. "Everyone needs the opportunity to relax, and what better time than now? We're not under immediate attack, and things are under control for the moment."

"My people are not unfamiliar with such things," Teyla said after a moment more of listening.

The quick, jazzy tune sped up, rollicking and rolling, and more and more people left their chairs to join the dancers. With a snap and final series of chords, it came to a sharp stop, and the cheering echoed in the small room. Individuals spoke cheerfully to one another, and Teyla could see an aspect of these new people that she had rarely seen before. There were smiles on many faces, happy voices and people collapsed, breathless, into chairs to rest. A clamoring began for more, and when they were answered with a jaunty chord, another shout went up, quickly hushed.

In that moment of silence, the man behind the guitar seemed to think, and his demeanor changed completely. The few notes that floated gently out into the commissary were slow and beautiful, and the man repeated the refrain before, for the first time that night, he began to sing. It was a tune that seemed to be familiar to many. The words he spoke told a story of a new home found, an old one lost. His voice, as he murmured a tale of brothers who stood fast, through destruction and baptisms of fire, was beautiful. Low and untrained, he poured his soul into a song about new worlds and the pain of war. Long before the end, every other sound in the room had ceased. Each person listened breathlessly as this one man seemed to crystallize the spirit of Atlantis, and turn it to song. It was mournful and sad, yet not without hope, and Teyla glimpsed him for the first time, as someone moved out of her field of vision.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor was the man from that morning, whose name she did not remember. His dark head was bent low over the instrument, fingers caressing the strings as he held the guitar close to his body. The song finished, trailing off into silence, and he sat still for a moment, his eyes closed as he breathed.

Someone started the applause, and it rose into a deafening crescendo. At the sound, the man jerked up. He had clearly forgotten his audience, so absorbed was he in the sound, and he flushed.

The sound died, and they waited.

With a quick smile, his attention on the guitar, the man began a slow-starting song that soon enough had more people on their feet, dancing and letting the soul-striking moment fade into their hearts. Even McKay could not seem to find anything to complain about, returning to his food with a soft, contemplative noise.

Teyla waited, as the music wound down and the people trickled away, before she approached the man.

He had stopped his playing for the evening, laughingly shaking his hand out, but there was something strained in his eyes.

"Hello," she greeted him, and he turned to face her fully. The eyes that she hadn't been able to place before she now saw were very light brown. "That song you played -" she didn't know which one, and so hummed a little of what she remembered.

He nodded, and named it for her.

"It was lovely," she told him.

He smiled, shyly, but the strained expression remained buried in his eyes as he thanked her.

"I am Teyla Emmagan," she remembered, belatedly introducing herself.

He smiled at that, shaking her hand firmly. "Gabriel Venner. I know who you are, ma'am."

She frowned a little. "You do?"

He nodded. "You are the leader of your people, the Athosians. And you're on Sheppard's team."

She nodded, then. "I see."

He saluted her. "I really should be going, ma'am."

"My name is Teyla," she insisted gently.

"Yes, ma – uh, Teyla," he said, sheepishly. She shared a smile with him. "Goodnight."

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Next chapter will be markedly more action packed. As you can probably tell, I'm going systematically, episodically, through Season 1. Spoilers abound, so beware. I pretty much have an idea, and write a chapter.


	4. Chapter 4

"Our deep-space sensors have been activated," Dylan muttered lowly. The commissary was abuzz with the news, and Gabe mouthed the words slowly.

"I didn't know we had deep space sensors," Hank commented conversationally. He seemed determinedly cheerful, as if he was trying to willingly ignore the fact that the Atlantis team was flying by the seat of their pants, and knew it.

"And the Major's offworld," Pete couldn't resist adding. The fact that their CO was currently elsewhere, and not likely to return soon, did not in the least dismay any of the men at the table. They were more than capable of dealing with the situation independently. The worry was more at the unknown, and being caught once more unawares.

Dylan grunted sarcastically. "Any more doom and gloom and I might consider throwing myself off the southwest pier."

Gabe couldn't hold in the laugh.

"What's so funny?" Pete asked, running a hand over his newly cut blond hair. Most of it had been shaved off, giving him a stubby, buzzed look.

"You lot," he answered, wagging his fork to indicate his three teammates arrayed at the table around him. "Our _deep_ space sensors have been activated." They gave him blank looks, and he rolled his eyes. "So whatever activated them is still far enough away for us to do something about it. It's not breathing down our necks and blowing the city out of the water without warning."

Realization dawned, bringing a bit of hope with it.

"I was wondering when you were going to catch that," Hank nodded knowingly. "You're not as dumb as you look."

Gabe snorted, easily seeing through his team leader's attempt to cover, but he said nothing. He was here to help. There were enough leaders at Atlantis, though he easily could have become one as well. What was truly needed were people to support those leaders. So he did what he could when he could, despite the fact that he sometimes disagreed with them.

Glancing at his watch, the SF swore and shoved back his chair.

"Hey, what's up?" Dylan asked him.

"Infirmary," Gabe apologized with a smile as he stood. "I'm late."

"They _still_ don't know what's wrong with you?" Hank scowled. "I don't like one of my men being out of commission."

Gabe rolled his eyes. "I'm not out of commission," he explained patiently as he gathered his tray. "The doc just wants some blood. He's got more tests up his sleeve."

"Tests for _what_?" Pete asked, concerned suspicion in his eyes.

Gabe shrugged. "Beats me. 0930?" he confirmed.

"On the dot," Hank warned him.

Gabe nodded and set off. But the others wouldn't accept his lack of a real answer for much longer, and he mentioned this to Beckett.

"Anemia," the Scotsman told him, inserting the needle into the vein. Today, he wanted a goodly amount to work with, and had decided to siphon off a pint. "Perfect explanation for the repeated tests; we're checking to make sure you don't have an iron deficiency. It can develop at any time, if you're prone to such."

"So you take _more _of my blood?" Gabriel queried in amusement. "If I didn't have an iron deficiency before, I do now," he muttered.

Beckett nodded distractedly. He looked over the skin on the inside of Gabriel's arms, and frowned. "Do ye see that?"

Gabe tensed, and said, "What?"

Beckett held one wrist, extending the SF's arm to get a closer look. "No bruises." He flicked on a light, and looked closer. "No redness – nothing." He'd been taking blood from that arm every other day for about a week, before he decided to simply take a good deal at once. Beckett looked at him sideways. "Ye seem to heal remarkably quickly."

"Why do you need so much, anyway?" he asked curiously. The fear was stuffed down deep, beyond thought or recollection.

"I'm doing tests with wraith cells," Beckett told him. "But due to contamination of the samples after these experiments, the blood is unusable. It's procedure, even though I can't detect anything different about it."

"But-"

Carson held up a hand to cut him off, and explained. "The effect of a few wraith cells on your blood is nearly negligible – they are devoured in the same manner as every virus, disease or infection I've tested. But there is a curious effect that occurs when larger amounts of cells come into contact with your blood, and I don't quite understand it."

A frown furrowed over Gabriel's brow, and he glanced at the bag that was slowly filling with blood. "So-"

"So I need more," Beckett said apologetically.

Gabriel nodded. "It's fine – I just wanted to know what was going on." He blinked, a little woozy from loosing so much blood. The bag was half full.

Carson smiled at him. "At least you won't have to fake the anemia today," he told him.

Gabriel lay back slowly, his mind on the interactions between his cells and those of the wraith. It would be disturbing to Carson that he had no idea what was going on; the man was a brilliant researcher and a fine doctor. The only explanation for it was that it was something he _couldn't_ understand. That, of course, meant –

"Well, ye're free to go." Carson smiled down at him, and the SF blinked. The needle had been removed, and the puncture bandaged, while he had been lost in thought. Swinging his legs down and sitting up quickly proved to be a mistake as the room blacked out, slowly fading back in. Beckett handed him a piece of chocolate, and Gabriel stared at it.

"From my stash," the Scot explained, looking around furtively. "Don't tell, or I'll have half of Atlantis beating down my door."

Gabriel smirked, enjoying the explosion of sugar on his tongue. "Thanks."

"Now, rest. For the day – nothing strenuous. Unless ye want to add passing out to the list of things ye'll have to explain to your teammates."

Gabe grimaced.

Alarms went off, and he jumped off the bed, about to make for the door. Beckett grabbed his arm, but Gabe stared at him. The doctor's glare was a fierce expression, determined to protect his patient, even from Gabriel himself. Something tickled in the back of his consciousness, lurking darkly behind coherent thought. Gabriel stiffened, unfamiliar with this feeling but knowing that it boded evil.

The alarms died. They waited; an announcement was made. A wraith dart had flown overhead, scanning the city. It had self-destructed. The danger was over.

It wasn't. Carson loosed his grip – in that moment, Gabriel pulled free and made for the door. The doctor sprang in front of him, blocking his way. "What? What is it?" he demanded.

"There's a wraith in the city."

"What? How do ye know that?" Surprise, confusion.

The truth was no good – he couldn't explain it, anyway. "I don't know how. I just know. I have to _go_!"

He made for the door again, and Beckett moved to the side. "Be careful. Good luck," the man wished him as he left.

Gabriel was surprised enough at this to halt, for half a moment. Scrutinizing the doctor, he saw that Beckett truly was concerned for him, as a person and not just a patient. He had no time to dwell on it as he brushed past, but some part of him wondered. He'd done nothing to become so deeply embedded in the minds and affections of the people around him. Beckett, Dylan, Pete, Hank – he did his best to be unobtrusive, to slide from their memories and remain a nameless face to the people in Atlantis, even among his own 'team'. Somehow, it didn't seem to be working, and for the life of him he couldn't understand it.

But there was no time for that thought now. He was following a sense that mortals didn't even have – one that was leading him further and further from the inhabited parts of the city and into darkened corridors. The cloying sense of something veiled in death grew thicker as he proceeded, and he realized at that moment that he was weaponless. Shrugging, he discarded the thought. He had trained himself well – a gun would make this faster, but no simpler.

When he came upon the wraith, it was pasty white and garbed in strange, flowing clothes. The skin glistened with cool wetness, shiny in the half-light filtered down from somewhere above. The hunter wrinkled his nose in distaste. The thing reeked on every level of his senses, emanating such a sense of evil that he sneezed.

At the sound, the wraith whirled, catching sight of him for the first time. "Human," it hissed, gargling the word deep in its throat.

Gabriel could have stepped back then, moved to find cover, but it would have been a pointless venture. So he stepped forward, and the wraith laughed to see his empty hands.

It lunged for him, and the angry surprise on its face when he wasn't where it expected him to be was priceless. It lunged again, and again the hunter was faster than the oversized parasite. He _really_ disliked these things.

When their quarters closed, it was on Gabriel's terms; but it proved to be an advantage to the wraith, regardless. Whatever destruction he brought to bear on the creature, it healed almost instantaneously. Broken bones, internal injuries – every blow he landed was designed to disable, but the creature healed quickly enough to almost negate the impacts. It laughed, a disgusting, ugly sound.

More annoyed than anything, Gabriel closed with it once more. Anticipating the move, the wraith surged forward, planting its hand on his arm.

Something inside the hunter tore loose from its moorings. A surprising pain seared through him, and he dropped to his knees, panting. The wraith smiled a smile of ecstatic, obscene gluttony. The pain tore, and something _ripped_ from his soul –

When Gabriel came to himself, he was lying on the cold floor. He blinked slowly, and turned his head. The blackened, charred face of the wraith was staring back at him, horror in the ashen lines of its face, mouth open in a dying howl. He jerked back, heart racing, before sense returned to him and he realized that it was dead.

He rolled away from it, onto his hands and knees. It was several moments before he could gain his feet, leaning heavily on a nearby support column. There was a deep ache within him, and he winced at the weal on his arm. The wraith had tried to consume his life, his soul, and had instead found the power within him all-consuming. It had been blasted from life, burned to death by the fiery force of his spirit.

Gabriel scowled at the body, which was crumbling slowly to dust before his eyes. A part of him had wondered what might happen should he encounter a wraith. Now that his question had been answered, more problems had arisen. Now, he could no longer chance that the rest of the wraith had not realized what had happened, and did not know of him. They must know of this one's death . . . in Atlantis. A new weapon in the hands of the humans of Atlantis would not be ignored, and they would come with vengeance in their twisted hearts.

Grimly, he pushed these thoughts to the side and concentrated on returning to his quarters. A strange, lethargic exhaustion tugged at all his limbs. Try as he might, he could not shake it off. It followed him all the way to his bed, and thankfully no one saw him as he stumbled, barely conscious, into his room. Once there, he dropped onto the bed and was asleep in moments.

But not for long, it seemed. Someone tugged at his shoulder, and he pulled away in pain. Blinking, he found several faces not far from his. One was concerned, and the others were a mix of worried and angry. Someone was tugging at his sleeve, lifting the cloth to –

Gabe jerked upright, a startled, "What!" bursting from his lips.

Hank was glaring at him, but Dylan was plainly worried and Pete was staring in a curious mix of the two. Beckett intervened as his team leader opened his mouth, ready to chew him out.

"About an hour and a half ago, ye're team came bursting into the infirmary, demanding to know what I'd been doing to you. Ye missed something at 0930 -"

"What time is it?" Gabriel blurted, still trying to make sense of all the people surrounding him.

"0345," Hank informed him coldly. "You're _not _out of commission?"

"We checked your quarters half an hour ago," Dylan told him compassionately. "You weren't here."

"That's not possible!" Gabriel gasped, stunned. He'd left the infirmary well before 0900 – had found the wraith when he was supposed to meet with his team. After that, all sense of time blurred to nothing. There was no way he had been unconscious for five hours or more.

At his bewildered confusion, Hank seemed to soften. "Gabe," he said sternly. "What happened?"

"You went to go meet someone," Beckett prompted him warily. He was eyeing Gabriel's arm, which in his confusion the hunter realized he was cradling protectively. "Did you?"

"No. I don't remember much," Gabe admitted. "I remember thinking that it was 0930, and Hank would be pissed and then – I woke up." Not entirely true, but basically correct.

Pete gaped. Dylan and Hank exchanged clearly worried looks, and Beckett said firmly, "Out."

"What?" three voices in something close to unison.

The doctor raised his hands. "I'm going to examine my patient. Out." Despite their protests, the three men were hustled out posthaste.

"Let me see," Carson said firmly.

"See what?"

The bluff failed miserably when the doctor stalked over to yank up his shirtsleeve. Gabriel hissed as healing flesh was torn, and the sucker-shaped wound was revealed. The skin around it was yellow, still stained with the wraith's acid secretions. The wound itself was running with both blood and pus, and stinging angrily. Carson froze at the sight.

"The wraith?" he asked, eyes never leaving the wound.

"Dead," Gabriel muttered.

"How?"

The thirty-something SF shrugged, seemingly as baffled as his doctor. "I don't know. It latched on to me, and the last thing I remember was how much it hurt. When I woke up, I came right back here. It's gone."

Carson opened the first-aid kit he had been carrying with him, and began to clean the wound. "What happened to it?" he asked carefully.

Gabe snorted. "There's no body to dispose of, if that's what you're wondering."

Beckett winced at the slightly crude phrasing.

"It was – vaporized."

Beckett blinked. "What?"

"It – burned. Charred, somehow, and turned to ash. Gone."

The doctor was turning this information over, but Gabriel knew that it wouldn't help him. The doctor had wanted to know, and telling him would only serve to confuse him, send him further from the truth, and so Gabriel revealed what had happened.

"That's . . ." Beckett turned to see Gabriel's defensive eyes, and words seemed to fail him. "Thank you for telling me," was what he said instead.

Gabe's eyes, however, had turned to the door. "But what do I tell them?"

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Just to reiterate, this story is a whim. A quite persistent one, but a whim nonetheless. That means that I'm not beta-ing as carefully, not really planning out what's going to happen or where it's going to go. Should I find that out, I'll probably end up bouncing back and forth, reposting chapters, to make it fit better. This is more for fun than anything; let me know if you're enjoying it. It'll motivate me to work harder, especially when I have several other things clamoring for my attention in real life . . .


	5. Chapter 5

"Anemia," Hank stated flatly.

Gabe crossed his arms, staring at the floor. He was propped against a wall, and though he didn't know it, he looked ghostly pale. The bandage covering the wraith . . . bite, for lack of a better term, was hidden securely under his sleeve. "Beckett's got me on meds." He shrugged. "Now that we know what it is -"

"I've gotta report this," Hank gently interrupted him.

Gabe closed his eyes for a moment. Beckett had sent Gabe's team in on his way out, advising the SF to tell as much of the truth as he could. Which, unbeknownst to the good doctor, was none at all.

"Medical reason or not, the Major's gotta know at all times the status of the men under his command." That Hank didn't want to do it was clear enough, but there was no way out of the situation.

"He'll sideline me," Gabe said bluntly, meeting Hank's eyes. "I know it. You know it." Dylan and Pete were there, staring but staying silent. "And we can't afford that."

"You passed out, Gabe. You were missing for over five hours – that's unacceptable."

"It won't happen again."

"You can't guarantee that," Hank countered. Sharp words, but the tone was gentle. "I don't want to jeopardize my team, including you, if you're wrong."

Gabe grimaced, letting out a breath.

"It's not permanent. Just for a week or so, while you get settled in with the meds and until the doc says it's okay for you to go back to active duty."

It was the best he would get – as opposed to a medical discharge. There was no way anyone could be discharged from this mission.

They spoke for a few more minutes, speculating and guessing, until Hank decided that Gabe was tired and needed rest. He hustled Dylan and Pete out, and when the door closed behind them, Private Venner dropped onto his bed in exhaustion.

Gabriel scowled. This was exactly what he didn't need – and the ridiculousness of being forced off-duty for medical reasons made him snort. It was the last thing he could have expected; but on the flipside, it did more to enhance his cover story than any deliberate action on his part.

When he woke the next morning, the news he heard pushed all thought of irritation at his situation out of his mind. The word was final – three wraith hive ships were less than two weeks away.

It might have been the panicked mood of Atlantis, but there was a strange, charged feel to the air he breathed. Pulled from active duty, he approached Weir and offered his computer skills to the effort. He was put in a team of scientists, who were puzzled about the presence of a soldier in their midst; at least, until he sat down and started working with them. It didn't take long for him to become pulled into their orbit, trading the necessary jargon with ease.

Hank approached him at one point and told him that he had yet to notify Sheppard of Venner's new off-active status. Too much was happening. The Major and Teyla had been sent on a recon mission to find out what they could about the status of the Wraith ships. At near the same time, McKay had managed to wrangle 1.3 seconds of an active wormhole out of a recovered ZPM. With his new high-compression method of packing data, there was a way to warn Earth about the Wraith. This meant double the work for the scientists, as they converted the necessary information files to encrypted lines of data, and then compressed them using McKay's new system.

Gabe was put to work, and spent several solid hours staring at a computer screen before he sat back and rubbed his eyes with a sigh. People had been rushing back and forth within the room all day. Now as the most pertinent information was almost finished, there was a little time to rest.

A hand came down on his shoulder, and Gabriel jumped. He was sitting in front of a computer layout, and had been for several hours. His instinctive dislike of having his back to the door had been pushed aside in light of the massive amount of work to be done. He whirled, gaining his feet immediately, and giving the man behind him a nasty shock.

Dr. Zelenka, the small, bespectacled and Czechoslovakian scientist, jumped as Gabe towered over him.

"I'm sorry, Doctor," Gabe apologized, seeing the fright in the little man's eyes. "You startled me."

"I think we both did a good job at startling the other," the Czech grinned shakily. "I've seen you working for hours, and wanted to tell you that you can take a break."

"Thank you," Gabe breathed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "I was just about to do that."

Despite his hours of unconsciousness the day before, exhaustion still pulled at him and he leant against the console for a moment, regaining his equilibrium.

Zelenka looked at him closely. "I do not think I know you," he commented. "You are not one of my team, are you?"

Gabe straightened, and saluted. "Private Gabriel Venner, sir," he responded.

"Aw, come on," chimed in another scientist, who was working not too far away. "You've been sitting here for nearly eight hours. I thought by now we'd been able to wash the military outta you, Gabe."

Gabe grinned in response to the teasing jibe. "Take more than a few hours with the civvies to wipe out the military," he retorted laughingly.

"Ah, get on with you," retorted a female scientist from Canada, who was working across the way. "Get out of here, Gabe. Take a break."

He saluted insouciantly. "Yes, ma'am. Right away, ma'am."

She stuck her tongue out at him, and he grinned.

Zelenka was looking at him, a tinge of amusement on his face. "Why are you helping here?" he asked curiously. "I was under the impression we needed all our military personnel -"

"I've been pulled from active duty." Gabe couldn't keep his lips from twisting in disgust. "For medical reasons." He shrugged, following the Czech scientist from the room. "I have experience with computers, and offered my services to Dr. Weir. She assigned me here."

"Ah," Zelenka murmured. "Thank you for all your help."

Gabe shrugged. "Your team are the real pros. I just do what I'm told." He smiled, and the two men spoke amiably together as they headed to the commissary. As they finished eating, Lt. Ford approached Dr. Zelenka.

"Doctor," he began. Within moments, he had outlined his new task. He had been assigned to record statements from each member of the Atlantis crew, to give to their loved ones on Earth.

Finished, he smiled in response to Zelenka's nod. The two arranged to meet at a later time, and Zelenka shifted his attention back to his food. Ford was about to turn away, when he noticed Gabriel. "Private Venner," he said.

Gabriel started to rise to his feet, but Ford said quickly, "At ease."

As he sank back into his chair, the Lieutenant continued, a little puzzled, "I don't believe I've recorded any message from you. Would you -"

Gabe shook his head with a small smile. "No, thank you. That won't be necessary."

He could see the question on Zelenka's lips, and Ford frowned a little. "Are you sure?"

"Quite certain," he responded positively.

Ford nodded, and beat a hasty retreat.

Zelenka, scientist at heart, was unable to contain his own curiosity. "If you don't mind my asking," he began, gaze focused on his plate.

"Why don't I want to send a message home?" Gabriel finished for him. His smile, gentle and understanding, went unseen though it did not leave his face. "There's no real reason to. I have a younger brother, an uncle and a cousin – but they already know that I have gone. Anything I might say would only upset them unnecessarily. They have all spoken to me about this, and we understand one another."

There was nothing more to say. If they called for him, despite the massive distance between, Gabriel would be there for them in less time than it took to blink. He had made a promise to them, as well. The hunter valued keeping his word so much that he rarely made promises. They were soul-binding, once he did.

"I see," Zelenka said, and by the sympathy on his face, it was clear that he saw only what Gabriel chose to let him see.

It was only a few hours later, however, that events took an unexpected turn. Delayed by wraith cunning, Major Sheppard and several refugees finally arrived back at Atlantis. It was not long after this that Gabriel found himself called to speak with his commanding officer.

As soon as he stepped into the room, following his own team leader, he understood the situation. Sheppard was fairly vibrating with frustrated tension, a hangover from his latest mission.

"Devor?" Sheppard demanded, looking up from a few scattered papers in irritation.

"Sir." Hank cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I've come to report that I've pulled Gabe Venner from active duty, and I'm a man down on guarding the 'gate."

Sheppard scowled, catching sight of Gabe standing behind him. "And you're Venner?" he asked harshly.

Gabe saluted. "Yes sir."

Sheppard turned his attention back to Hank. "Why did you remove him from active duty?" His tone conveyed that there would be dire repercussions – Atlantis was under attack. There was no time for this paper-pushing nonsense.

"He has been found . . . medically unfit," Hank responded, promptly and uneasily.

Sheppard's brow rose. "Exactly what do you mean by that?"

"Private Venner passed out, sir. He was missing for over five hours."

"And where exactly was he when this occurred? Why wasn't he discovered immediately?" Sheppard was no slouch.

Hank froze, having obviously not examined the situation from that angle. Surprise flashed across his features, hidden quickly enough. But his silence needed no explanation.

"Private?" Sheppard asked dangerously.

"I was in the northeast quadrant of the city," Gabe answered levelly. There was no point in lying – Sheppard would just check the city's sensors, and deduce where Gabe had been from what he found in their records. The real question was why the sensors hadn't warned of a wraith in the city, and it was this which darkened Gabriel's expression.

Sheppard read it as defiance. "Devor, dismiss," he snapped.

Hank gave Gabe a warning look as he saluted and left, closing the door softly behind him.

For the first time, Gabe experienced the full force of Sheppard's glare. For all his youth, the Major was formidable. Lean and athletic, his unruly dark hair reflected a lightness of spirit that could also be seen in his eyes. Now, however, his gaze was cold and authoritative.

Gabriel, however, had stared down more frightening and powerful creatures than John Sheppard. He met the other's gaze calmly, before he realized that Gabe Venner would have to show deference to his commanding officer. Slowly, he turned his attention to a point on Sheppard's chest – staring him down but not looking him in the eye.

"What were you doing there?" Sheppard asked coolly.

Careful, now. "I was checking out an anomaly in the sensors," he responded, with equal confidence. It was the truth, in a fashion.

"That was just after the wraith dart flew over the city," Sheppard realized. He hadn't been present, but used his quick mind to run the calculations. "What anomaly?" It hadn't been reported to him.

Gabe shrugged. "It turned out to be nothing, sir. I neglected to take backup, and passed out on my way back."

"Foolish," Sheppard snapped, only just keeping his calm. "If you hadn't been medically pulled, you'd be removed from duty for that alone."

Gabe was silent.

"As it stands, I need every man I have, and a few extra," Sheppard informed him grimly. "Like an armada or two extra. Why were you medically pulled?"

"I was diagnosed with anemia in the latest round of physicals," Gabriel told him. He didn't have to fake his disgust. Under normal circumstances, Sheppard wouldn't have had to ask – Beckett would have informed him. But these circumstances were anything but normal.

"How long will you be under Beckett's supervision?"

"Not long."

"Excuse me?" Sheppard had no patience for vague ambiguities. They couldn't afford them, not now.

"A few days. Sir," Gabe added, refusing to back down at the icy expression on Sheppard's face. "I've already volunteered whatever aid I can give to Dr. Weir -"

"You have," Sheppard repeated, both angry and dubious.

"She's assigned me to work with the scientists for now, sir. I want to continue in that function until Beckett says I can return to active duty."

"And why," Sheppard stood now, aloofly authoritative, "should I allow you to do anything of the sort, instead of throwing you into a cell?"

The man must be tired – normally, he'd understand in a moment. His tetchy irritation amused Gabriel, though he knew Gabe Venner would be wary of his CO's temper. He gentled his voice, explaining cautiously. "Because you need every man you can get, sir."

Sheppard sighed wearily, his anger punctured and draining away. "Fine," he said quietly, sitting down at his seat once more. "I'll be putting you under McKay's supervision." He correctly read the look on Venner's face, one of resigned acceptance. As a form of punishment, it was subtle and cunning.

"Sir," Gabe responded. With a salute, he was gone.

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I have discovered that, as of the last chapter, this fic is AU. I thought so when I wrote it, but now I'm sure, and wanted to inform all of my readers. Hope you've enjoyed it so far!


	6. Chapter 6

He was up late that night.

When the sky darkened, Atlantis barely noticed. There was too much to do, and even when that was done, no one wanted to be just . . . waiting.

So when he felt the need for air, he went. Well within the approved habitat area was a small balcony which faced out over the sea. It was to this place that he retreated, sitting back in the dark and staring out at unfamiliar stars. More than anything else, the night sky of Atlantis reminded him that he was no longer on Earth.

The bite on his arm was nearly gone, reduced to only a dark scab and an angry bruise. Gabriel's mortal incarnation was not the same as being mortal; he was the Left Hand of God, one of the first of His sons. It meant that though he could live as a human on Earth, he was never quite the same as the younger children of God. He was mortal, in one sense – but he was also _other_.

It also meant that he did not need as long to heal, which was something he had been occasionally grateful for, down the years. His mind wandered these paths, turning over several millennia's worth of remembrances from Earth as his consciousness moved toward sleep.

He had been there for some hours, drifting in and out of a light doze, when the sudden opening of the door had him starting upright. A shaft of dim light, broken by a faint shadow, threw itself out into the night.

A figure, dressed in loose sleep clothing, padded out into the breeze with a sigh. Gabriel recognized her. She moved to the railing, long curls winding down her back, and rested her arms on it as she stared out to sea.

He cleared his throat softly, and Teyla whirled, a knife in hand. Gabe raised his hands slowly, standing and squinting as he moved into the light, letting her see him.

Recognition dawned on her face slowly. "Gabriel Venner," she acknowledged him.

He smiled. "Teyla Emmagan."

She nodded.

"It's just Gabe," he told her. Slowly, he moved to the railing not far from her, looking out over the sea.

"Why are you not asleep at this hour?" she asked him softly.

Gabe smiled a little. "I wanted to think. You look as if you've just woken up," he commented, turning the conversation from himself with ease.

Her smile faded. "Yes. I was asleep. But I have been having . . . strange dreams."

"Nightmares?"

She shot him a look. "Why do you think that?"

He reached out a hand, and rested it gently on the knife she was still tightly gripping. White knuckles eased, and he carefully took the weapon from her. It glinted in the light of strange stars as he examined it, mute testimony to her distress.

"I dream," she said lowly, staring at the knife. "The wraith. They are there, and those I care for have died."

"Awful dreams," he agreed softly. The edge of the knife was razor-sharp, and he kept well away from it.

Teyla smiled tightly. "I had none such as these before the wraith awoke."

Gabe frowned. "Is there anyone among your people that you could speak with?" he asked gently. "Someone who would know how to help you?" He really didn't want to send her to the Atlantis psychologist. Teyla was a very down-to-earth woman, practical and not given to whimsical fear.

A memory, not quite grasped, flashed in his mind's eye. _Pain, so great as to tear his soul from its moorings. The power he kept tucked down deep, far from mortal eyes, burst into beauteous life, burning away the solidly evil presence that clutched at him. A moment in its mind, filled with whispered screams that clogged breath in the throat. And a vision of the thousands, felt and heard and thought, treading on one another's minds behind this one, impatiently waiting . . ._

Gabe blinked. He hadn't realized that there would be anything to remember after the wraith had tried to kill him – and so he hadn't sought after the errant recollections. Without prompting, they had risen from the depths of his mind to aid him. And now he was certain that there was more going on here than met the eye.

"Charin," Teyla said, jolting him from his thoughts.

"I'm sorry?"

"Charin is an elder of my people. A mother to many, even those not of her flesh. I would speak with her."

"I'm glad," Gabe smiled. He thought for a moment and then said slowly, "Talk to Sheppard as well."

"Major Sheppard?" Teyla's confusion was palpable.

Gabe nodded, his eyes on the whitecaps shimmering in the moonlight. "He's your team leader," he argued, softly persuasive. "He could help you, and he needs to know, especially if you're -"

"Distracted?" Teyla asked wryly. She too was looking out to sea, but she seemed to be content with the distant horizon, knowing that over it was the land on which her people now lived.

Gabe nodded. "Just so," he murmured quietly.

The two stood, leaning on the railing in amiable silence as the night deepened. Teyla's breathing, ragged from the dream, slowly subsided as the soothing breeze played over her skin. The man next to her was the epitome of calm, strangely alert for the hour and completely focused on the waves.

"Goodnight." Gabriel wished her pleasant dreams, feeling his weariness swell in a rising tide. Much was to be done on the morrow, he thought as he left the balcony for the privacy of his rooms.

The hours of sleep he got did him well, but he later learned that Teyla had not been so lucky.

Gabe was back in the infirmary, working under Beckett's supervision, when later the following day Dr. McKay barged in. He noted Gabe's presence, for Sheppard had brought the errant private to heel, depositing him in McKay's care for the time being. But the soldier was ignored as the scientist grabbed Beckett's full attention with the data he had dumped onto his laptop from a recorder Teyla found. The entire story came out in a rush – Teyla's nightmare and her visit with Dr. Heightmeyer, the Atlantis psychologist. The trip to the planet, and the strange chamber that Teyla alone could enter.

It was then that the most disturbing information of all was revealed. Gabe surreptitiously made his way closer, until he was practically peering over Beckett's shoulder to see the screen. Wraiths had evolved after the Ancients arrived in the Pegasus galaxy; their DNA was a strange combination of human, and the parasitic insect which had nearly ended Major Sheppard's life not long ago. Their language was even a dialect of Ancient.

Gabriel stared at the screen, turning over this new information. It made sense, given that the wraiths appeared vaguely human, and yet reeked of some sort of twisted evil. He felt a momentary pang of sorrow for how far the creatures had fallen, how far they had strayed from their original path. They had ceased to be human, and were now a scourge throughout this galaxy. With that thought, his pity dried up and was replaced with impassive determination and acceptance for the role he would need to play.

"Look at that," Beckett breathed, drawing Gabriel's attention back to the screen. They were now viewing the log of a wraith who was conducting experiments on humans. Gabe's face twisted, and he could not completely contain a soft noise of disgust.

McKay turned at the sound, and saw him looking over their shoulders. A scowl darkened his face and he opened his mouth to object to Gabe's presence. But scientist did not have the time to say anything, for at that moment, several people strode into Dr. Beckett's realm. Teyla and Dr. Heightmeyer were foremost, with Sheppard, Ford and Weir bringing up the rear. Apparently, McKay and Weir had gone over the information before McKay went to Beckett; they had discovered the reason why the wraith forbade their scientist from continuing his experiments.

"And you want to try to tap into this – psychic network," Beckett said dubiously as the plan was explained.

"I would like to try." Teyla was calm, but she looked as if she had gotten no sleep the previous night. Gabriel, hovering mostly unnoticed in the background, frowned at this. Weir noted his presence, and her eyes flicked to Beckett. The doctor nodded very slightly, and Weir relaxed. She obviously had been informed about the wraith in the city several days ago, but had not had the time to fully debrief Gabe. Sheppard was as yet unaware that anything had been amiss; his attention was firmly on Teyla and Dr. Heightmeyer.

The hunter waited silently near the back of the room as Teyla was prepped for the hypnosis. Dr. Heightmeyer, blonde and confident, began to speak in a low, soothing voice. Teyla's eyes gradually closed, and in a soft, dreamlike voice she began to speak.

As she did, Gabe could feel the stench of wraith begin to fill the room, shadowing the sunlight before his eyes. It scraped at his senses and he muffled a sneeze. His hair stood on end and he tensed for a fight – but there was no wraith present.

"I'm . . . _feeding_," Teyla sobbed, her voice breaking into his focus and drawing his attention to the physical world.

The Scot, who had been unhappy with this idea from the start, lost his temper at this point. Beckett immediately pulled the Athosian out of the hypnosis. Shuddering and gasping, Teyla opened her eyes. Her team moved in, with reassurance and words of comfort, and Gabriel frowned. As Teyla had been linked with the wraith, the _presence_ of wraith had grown. There was something going on here – beyond Teyla tapping into the psychic network. He shifted uneasily, leaning against the wall.

The expected words were not long in coming. Teyla was a strong woman, and her desire to defeat the wraith and help her people was so much a part of who she was, it was nearly embedded in her bones. She was resolutely working past the idea that the enemy she so loathed was a part of her, in the very cellular writing that composed what she was. Teyla insisted on trying again.

This time, however, Gabe straightened and moved to the bed where she was lying, nearly as soon as contact had been established. He was only a mere pace away when she bolted up from the bed, her face contorted in a wicked smile. "You will all die," the wraith hissed the promise, using the Athosian's body with practiced ease. Then the wraith behind her eyes found Gabe, and the orbs opened wide in surprise. "You," it gargled, filled with hate.

At that moment, however, Teyla was yanked unceremoniously from the hypnosis.

Beckett looked to Gabe, and the hunter met his eyes; he could see a question there, and understanding. He moved back, but not before more eyes had followed Teyla's gaze to find him. Weir looked at him with every question he had seen in Beckett's eyes, and none of the understanding. Ford spared him no more than a curious glance, but Sheppard's eyes narrowed on seeing him there.

"Private Venner," he snapped.

Venner stood straight, saluted, and said nothing.

"What are you doing here?" Sheppard demanded.

Beckett cut in quickly. "I scheduled him for a series of tests to determine if he's ready to return to duty. That was before I knew what you wanted to do here today."

Sheppard nodded, appeased, and Gabe frowned. He was unhappy that his presence here had forced Beckett to lie. His debt to the doctor grew.

Dr. Heightmeyer ignored the entire conversation, her focus on Teyla. The Athosian had pulled out of the hypnosis with a horrified gasp, and was slowly calming.

Alarms snapped the tension in the room, an incoming wormhole sending Weir, Ford, Sheppard, Teyla and McKay racing from the room. Gabriel took a deep breath in exasperation, knowing that he should be there with them, but holding himself back. Beckett smiled tightly at him, and Heightmeyer looked curiously at him, wondering at his presence there.

As the alarms died and they waited for news of what was happening at the 'gate, she introduced herself.

"Pleased to meet you," Gabe replied, shaking the proffered hand.

Sharp eyes took in his easy posture, the careless way he leant against the wall. "I don't think I've ever spoken with you," she offered carefully. "In an official setting, I mean."

"I don't believe so," the hunter returned evenly.

The frown was of puzzlement, overlaying but not erasing her cordial smile. "That's unusual. I make it my policy to speak to everyone in the Atlantis crew."

Gabe shrugged. "It's not unusual for one to slip through the cracks."

"I'll have to rectify that," she told him, the smile reemerging.

He didn't tense, or give her any other visual signal to latch onto. "Some other time, perhaps," he returned politely. But his tone was a little too cool for her to think the invitation welcome.

She eyed him then, but saw no sign of resistance or hostility, only more of the carefully constructed façade of carelessness. She began to tell him of her policies, and her methods, searching for a sign of interest.

Unfailingly polite, Gabriel nevertheless grew less vocal as the conversation continued, soon limited to silent nods or hand gestures. He understood the human need to speak out, and confide. He understood the need to treat the heart and mind, as well as the body, against pain and disease. He even shared these needs – but only to a small degree. After thousands of years of living among humanity, there were some areas in which he was more knowledgeable about the human mind than any living; and some he still could not comprehend. He had been examined by psychiatrists, in one form or another, many times over the years. It did him no good; for once he knew how the game was played, it was a simple matter to rig the outcome. He had neither the need nor the desire to speak with yet another psychologist.

Her interest in him was diverted, luckily, by the return of Teyla, Ford, Sheppard and Weir. But the Athosian was once more determined to undergo hypnosis. Explaining her reasons, the most prominent was that she had seen a map – some type of holographic display, from what the hunter could judge. It could contain valuable information, something to make the effort worthwhile.

Given what had happened the last time, Gabriel didn't deem the risk worth it. He sat silently by, however, and did not interfere in the decisions that were made. Sergeant Bates, who had come from the discovered and now-useless Alpha site, was more vocal about his disagreement, but in the end he was overruled.

Disaster did not take long to strike after Teyla was hypnotized for the third time. Wasting no time, the wraith took over her body, and immediately threw Sheppard and Beckett away from it. The doctor, who would be able to bring her out of hypnosis immediately, curtailing the wraith's actions, was knocked unconscious. Sheppard hit the wall hard, dropping with a _thud_ to lie dazed on the floor. Ford was summarily tossed aside, and Gabriel moved forward.

The wraith, seeing him approach, snarled. The expression was a foreign one to see on Teyla's face. With uncanny coordination, it approached him – knowing that Teyla's flesh would protect the monster now ruling her from afar. A fist sped through the air, with enough force to send him flying across the room.

Gabriel spun quickly to the side, and reached out, grabbing her arm in an unyielding grasp. For all its strength, the wraith could not pull free and was, for that one instant, immobilized in shock.

"Teyla," Gabriel called strongly. "Teyla Emmagan."

Light flared – from a stun weapon, the watchers assumed.

The wraith was gone – and Teyla was left blinking at Gabe in confusion. Slowly, the Athosian's knees buckled, and Gabe was able to grab her, easing her way to the floor. Bates, stun weapon raised, was staring in shock and suspicion.

Sheppard rolled to his feet as Bates approached, and Gabe backed carefully away, leaving the two men to stand staring warily down at Teyla. She was half-conscious, and between them, they moved her to a bed. In the meantime, Gabe helped Ford carry the unconscious Dr. Beckett to another bed. He had taken a hard knock, but his lids were fluttering and he squinted up, groaning softly.

"Wha – wha' happened?" the Scot grunted thickly, the words barely decipherable through his accent.

"That," said Sheppard, staring hard at Gabe across the barely-cognizant bodies of Teyla and Beckett, "is what I'd like to know."

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Word to the wary – I'm getting a bit irritated with following along episode for episode. This is AU, dammit, and it's going to start getting even more so from now on. (is growling). And I do apologize, but school starts soon, so updating will return to its usual prolonged and sporadic schedule.


	7. Chapter 7

"The wraith do not simply wish to conquer Atlantis," Teyla murmured, her voice coming unexpectedly into the tense silence. Connections forged a path in the hunter's mind, and Gabe sighed, closing his eyes and dreading the words he knew he was about to hear. "They seek more fertile feeding grounds," the Athosian whispered, exhausted by the contact with the wraith, and the drain its actions had placed on her body.

"Earth," Gabriel and Sheppard murmured. The private's low whisper was drowned out by the decisive snap of his CO's voice.

"How would they know about Earth?" Ford asked logically, looking to the Major for an answer.

Sheppard's face went alight with certainty. "Colonel Sumner," he spoke with the single-minded confidence of sureness. "Sumner was captured and questioned. We didn't know what the wraith were, then. There are over six billion people on Earth. Of course the wraith would want it."

"And the only way to get to Earth is through Atlantis," Weir murmured.

Sergeant Bates' face was white, his mouth pursed. "And they have a way in," he stated grimly. His eyes were fixed on Teyla.

"You think that Teyla would betray us?" Not for nothing did Weir command all of Atlantis. There was no censure, no interest, no defensiveness – nothing in the careful query to give a hint about her own feelings on the subject.

"Not intentionally," Bates admitted grudgingly, seeing the vicious look Sheppard was leveling on him. Gabriel gave the man credit. Despite the clear opposition to what he was saying, Bates was unafraid to state his opinion, and do so fairly. "But yes. The wraith have a link to us, through her. And they know it."

"But it appears that we also have something which can counter that link." Weir was the one to speak these words, surprising Gabriel. He would have not thought that she would be the one to unveil his secret, and he kept his face expressionless. Dread did not curl in his stomach; on the contrary, his mind was working clearly and quickly, turning over choices and calculating paths of action.

It was not long before every face in the room turned to him, following Weir's gaze if they had not already noticed something amiss.

"You," Sheppard said, fierce curiosity in the word. "The wraith knew you. It recognized you."

Betrayal shone clearly from several faces, and Gabriel stepped back. The hunter within wanted to reach for a weapon, but outwardly the man only tensed, knowing himself to be defenseless.

"I can explain that," Weir spoke up at once, and Gabe had to frown. Her motivations were unknown to him, and he could not see purpose in her actions. "Private Venner encountered and killed a wraith in Atlantis. It was the pilot of the dart which scanned the city only a few days ago."

"Why wasn't I told?" Sheppard demanded immediately.

Weir's brows rose in answer, and she glanced around the infirmary. "Dr. Heightmeyer, if you wouldn't mind?"

"Of course," the woman said. But she stared speculatively at Gabriel until she was forced to either turn away or walk into a wall.

The Major scowled, taking Weir's meaning. "Bates, Ford. Dismiss."

The two men left, and Beckett sighed, speaking up for the first time. "Could ye hand me the Tylenol? It's just to the left of the – thank ye." Gabe reached for the pills as soon as Beckett made the request known. The doctor dry-swallowed two, rubbing his head carefully as he slowly sat up. Teyla had, unnoticed, drifted into sleep several minutes before.

Sheppard, however, was using the time to think furiously. "A few days ago – that's when your team leader pulled you from active duty."

"Beckett concocted that story," Weir interrupted smoothly. "With my permission."

"What?" Sheppard was justifiably surprised by this, and he scowled.

Beckett, pale and tired, sat up. Gabriel put a steadying hand on his shoulder when the doctor swayed slightly, and Sheppard's gaze turned hard. Once more, Venner moved slowly, cautiously back from the others.

"John," Weir appealed to the leader of the military directly. "This was not a matter which required your involvement."

"Why not? When one of my men has the potential -"

"That's all it is," Beckett interrupted harshly. "Potential. And Ah'll not allow anyone to be forced into cooperating with medical examination."

John's eyes narrowed in surprise. "I wouldn't do that," he answered quietly.

"How could we know that?" Elizabeth asked, eyes earnest.

"By asking!"

"We couldn't take that chance," she explained reasonably, raising her brows in the expectation of understanding.

The argument looked set and ready to continue for a good deal longer, and Gabe could feel an expression of disgust tracing its way across his features. He didn't wait to be dismissed, noting that Beckett was focused on the heated words Sheppard and Weir were exchanging. He slipped to the back of the room, moving soundlessly away from the heated confrontation.

He should have stayed, he realized almost as soon as he left. But perhaps he was learning more of human impatience than he thought. Much as they grew and changed over the ages, humanity actually progressed very little, he found himself thinking bitterly.

A moment later, he wondered at these thoughts, at his own uncharacteristic impatience.

He was concerned. Frightened, he admitted to himself. Absently, he rubbed his arm. It was still aching slightly from the encounter with the wraith, though the wound was little more than a fading scar. Stopping behind a rack of shelves, he moved to one of the many windows lining the room. The sun was shining brightly on the sea, raising his spirits slightly.

It was rare in his experience with humanity that he could not will himself to the background and out of the memory of those who encountered him, when the need arose. Much of who and what he was existed so far beyond the realm of mortal understanding that he did not usually concern himself with such trivialities. It was protection of a form – one that had been partially stripped away here in Atlantis. It left him vulnerable as he had only been a few times in his long, long life. He enjoyed the sensation no more than he had on those rare, previous occasions – which was not at all.

It was that which was plaguing him, shortening his temper and souring his disposition. There was nothing he could do about it, however, except face the fear. He had never been one for running away.

Setting his shoulders, he unconsciously felt himself slipping out and away from the image of Gabriel Venner, the youthful and useful façade he had used for the past few months. The thirty-something SF had been a faded and shallow reflection of himself, barely half-alive; Gabriel did not mourn his disappearance.

He could hear the words still flying back and forth through the air as he approached the scene. Moving away from the protection of the shielding shelves, he caught Beckett's glance and knew that the doctor, at least, had noticed his absence. He smiled a little, and continued toward the group with a purposeful, yet silent, step.

"If you two are finished?" he asked. Cold and commanding, Gabriel was older than both of them. In that moment, staring at them as if they were argumentative youngsters, he looked it.

The shock on their faces would be comical, but it quickly transformed to other expressions – Sheppard's eyes narrowed and Weir frowned darkly at him.

"It occurs to me," Beckett spoke consideringly into the terse silence, "That the one person who hasn't been consulted on what to do about this situation is Gabe himself."

"My goal since the beginning has been to keep as many people as possible from knowing about this," Gabriel returned bluntly, answering the doctor immediately without giving the others a chance to respond. "I have done everything in my power to see that goal through. Regardless of the authority of the individuals involved." He did not look at either Weir or Sheppard as he said this.

What he had to say next was important. He locked eyes with Sheppard. "Don't blame Weir or Beckett for lying to you; the fault lies solely with me."

"Why would you feel the need to lie in the first place?" Weir asked, impatience unable to mask the curiosity in her voice.

Gabriel's mind snapped back to a moment in time – an awful memory, one of a cursed few. Though he remained silent, his stony expression spoke volumes.

"That doesn't matter," Sheppard spoke after a moment. He seemed to have regained some control over himself. "I need to know exactly what you did." He glanced at Weir and Beckett. "Potential, you said. What does that mean?"

Weir looked to Gabriel, hesitating with her information for the first time. Beckett too glanced at him, but his look was much more concerned - that of a doctor for a patient, or perhaps one friend for another. It was to Carson that Gabriel nodded, yielding tacit permission and giving over the life of Private Gabe Venner into his hands.

Beckett spoke slowly, as if waiting for Gabriel to cut him off at any moment, but the hunter stayed silent through the tale. Beckett told of his strange and wondrous findings, the technological inability to use the data he was gathering in any significant way. His voice dropped when he spoke of finding Gabe unconscious after the private dragged himself back from the confrontation with the wraith, and the speed with which the wound healed.

At the end Sheppard was left shocked, frustrated, thwarted and angered in equal parts. The man used a few empty moments to compose himself, but his next few concerns were clear even before the words were formed.

"How can we use this to our advantage?"

"Medically I'd advise against it," Beckett said immediately. "One wraith was able to physically drain Private Venner to the point of extended unconsciousness. Any escalation of the type of attack he launched on the wraith would surely kill him."

"I don't even know how I did it," Gabriel spoke for the first time. That, at least, was not a lie. With that one statement, the danger of exposure, of failing in his promise, was eradicated. "There's no way to tell if I could even do it again."

The lie came forth easily, and he felt no guilt. Gabriel could wipe out the entire population of wraith in the universe in a heartbeat. But it was not his duty, or his right, to do so. He had not been put on Earth to solve mankind's problems for them; and the same was true in the Pegasus galaxy.

"But I do know how I can help," Gabe continued. Three faces looked at him; not with hope, for that had been tempered to resolve by the fiery trials Pegasus had hurled at them. Instead, there was willingness to listen, and to accept, whatever they could. "Give me back my gun."

Silence fell, deep and thick between them. The wraith were coming.

The Major's mouth tightened, tiny stress lines forming at the lips and corners of his eyes, invisible to the casual observer. Face darkened with determination, Sheppard nodded.

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Hear Ye, Hear Ye: Classes are in full swing. Exams start next week, and do not let up for over a month. The take-home message in all of this is expressly what is stated in my bio; sporadic updates, with lengthy waits betwixt and between. I'm sorry, but unfortunately life's like that. However, I will NOT give up writing, dreaming, or creating any of my stories. Never let the thought cross your mind. The timetable has simply been considerably extended, is all. Do enjoy!


	8. Chapter 8

The satellite had taken out one of the hive ships, but the line of naquadah bombs had detonated and destroyed sensor readouts. The wraith were upon them; all time had run out.

A few hours before, Gabriel had armed himself and rejoined his team. He was greeted with neither questions nor objections, only a small measure of relief. His team had been formed when they had all been assigned to Atlantis – together since the beginning. Trust was absolute between them, and their relief at having him back with them, instead of relying on an unknown at their backs, outweighed their concern. After all, if they couldn't stop the wraith, it wouldn't matter.

The arrival of backup from Earth had been a welcome shock. Trained to tactics of Goa'uld warfare, the sound of an incoming wormhole had meant that the wraith were trapping them, blocking the only escape route, and wearing down their power supply. But even with the reinforcements from Earth, it was plain that there still wasn't enough manpower to stop the wraith. And abandoning Atlantis had never been an option.

So when the sensors had screamed warnings, letting them know that the wraith were scanning the city, Sheppard sent some of his men out to comb the passages. Sweeping rays meant that the wraith were beaming down to Atlantis – and the invasion had begun. Gabe's team was spread thin, the four of them not truly enough for the massive area they had been assigned to secure. But their situation was no different than that of any of the other teams going out into the city on recon.

"Clear," Gabriel snapped tersely into his radio. He had finished the far end of the third quadrant, his team arrayed out to his right, making their way further down the passages. The rest of the hallways sounded clear as well, soft voices echoing in his headpiece minutes after he spoke. They knew that they couldn't keep the wraith out of the city – it was too big. They hadn't even explored a fraction of it for themselves. The best they could do was keep secure the areas they had discovered.

"Dammit," Hank snarled fiercely. The soft-spoken southern man only became abrasive when he was stressed to the breaking point. His worry for his team, for Atlantis, was obvious. "We know that they're here – where the hell did they _go_?"

The only warning they received was sudden thick static in their earpieces. The wraith had jammed all signals as they flew overhead. Dylan's eyes, wide with realization, met Gabe's only seconds before a near-invisible white beam pulled at the his body.

Gabriel dove out of the way, only able to watch in horror as the beam swept inexorably down the corridor. His team disappeared, transported up to the hive ship.

Rolling to his feet, Gabriel grabbed his weapon and raced down the corridor, intent on warning Sheppard and the remainder of Atlantis. The shield should have been powered by now; it should have been impossible for the wraith to beam them up. They had a ZPM from Earth – but obviously something had gone drastically wrong.

He ran, and nearly sped into another thick beam that was racing up the corridor in the opposite direction. Gabriel wedged his body into a doorway, sucking in his breath as the beam passed within a hairsbreadth of his skin. He could feel a cold buzz race through him at the nearness of the energy, but the wraith did not seem to know he was there.

He didn't stop to question his good luck, whatever anomaly of the sensors allowed him to escape undetected. When it passed, he quickly continued onward. But his desperate dash was interrupted countless times by the beams. They were _everywhere_, forcing him to halt and change direction to avoid being transported up to the hive ship. The beams increased in frequency as he slowly got closer and closer to the heart of Atlantis. But in all that time he didn't see one human, could hear no sound of anyone nearby. From the moment his team had been kidnapped, he hadn't seen a sign of any members of the Atlantis team in the city.

Gabriel's worry ratcheted even higher, his heart pounding in his mouth. With startling abruptness, the beams disappeared, and he could no longer hear anything within the city. He ran then, without care for what he might encounter. He sped straight to the 'gate, hoping and praying that most of the team had escaped to safety, out of Atlantis and away.

He skidded to a stop in the Gateroom, his hope crushed.

The iris, iridescent and beautiful, still covered the active wormhole. There was no one in sight. When he checked the stations, all the readouts were full, messages and warnings scrolling across at incredible speed – but there was no one there to see them.

What had happened? Why hadn't the shield gone up? There was no question in the hunter's mind that the people of the Atlantis team were on the hive ship. He had little time before the wraith, in their fury and hunger, would begin to torture and kill them, trying to find out the way to Earth. More was at stake here than just his promise.

Staring at the readouts, Gabriel realized that the next stage was glaringly obvious. Invasion.

Holding his weapon close, hoping that he hadn't been the only one to escape the wraith's purges, he made his way swiftly to the place he should have gone to immediately.

He opened the door to the Atlantis' main power station, and was greeted by the business end of a stun weapon. He dodged to the side, and the blue bolt of energy passed harmlessly by him, spattering against the wall and dying quickly. The wraith on the other end of the weapon was just as unfortunate. Bullets bit into its body, and the thing went down and stayed there.

There were two more inside – and they did not die easily.

But once the corpses had been kicked out of the way, it was clear what had happened. The technician assigned to loading the full ZPM into the generator was a crumbling husk, his life sucked away. The wraith had beamed down here first then, taking out the power core in order to ravage the rest of Atlantis. And they would know that their drones were dead. He had very little time.

Grabbing the ZPM, Gabriel made his way to the core and inserted it into the proper terminal, hoping that his familiarity with the system would help him figure out what to do next.

New life flared in the lights around him, and the city greedily sucked up the power offered. Now all he had to do was get back to the control room and configure the shield to tap into the new power source. Checking the wraith one last time to make certain, he set off at a dead run. He had to get the shield up before the wraith found out that they could only access Earth through the Atlantis Stargate.

His senses tingled as he poured his energy into running, and he knew he was too late. The scraping along his nerves intensified the closer he got to the 'gate, but he couldn't change course; there was nothing else he could do. He stopped just short of the entrance to the Gateroom, and slowed his breathing. Reaching out into the world around him, he opened himself fully to the senses that were demanding his attention.

They were everywhere, infesting the city in every direction. Like any and all of the plagues of mankind, they were beyond number and without mercy. He was alone with them. Gabriel felt relief wash through him at that, followed closely by the rising of a confident determination he knew well. The masks fell away.

The being who stepped purposefully around the corner, striding toward the console, was so far beyond humanity that there was no mistaking him as mortal no matter his appearance.

It took the wraith by surprise, as they milled about, hissing at one another as they strove to gain swift mastery over the Ancients' technology. It bought him enough time to get over halfway across the room, safely in the open and right where he needed to be.

Their shock at the sudden appearance of this human, the insolence of a creature that would withstand them, gave him enough time to get into the clear. When the first one stepped forward, clearly claiming him as its meal, the others laughed, a wet and disgusting noise that set the hunter's teeth on edge. The sound continued, for they stepped back and let the most dominant claim the morsel that was, to their trained eyes, glowing with untold power and life.

Gabriel ducked away from the wraith's gentle glide in his direction, and the others looked on hungrily as the one that had 'claimed' him proceeded to stalk its prey. This wraith was not a warrior-drone, but indistinguishable from the others for all that. He edged quickly away, and the laughter that had sounded before was stilled. He knew that he was the intent focus of the wraith, yet the watchers gave way before him as something primitive in them called out to prolong the chase.

Gabriel couldn't care less – his objective was in sight. Projecting the fear they wanted and needed to sense, he slipped behind a console. The human, ringed by ravenous intentions, seemed to brace himself on the computer, shaking with terror. The wraith closed in, and stood before the seemingly frozen human.

"Now," it hissed, startlingly dark eyes fixed greedily on him. The prey was tightly surrounded with nowhere to go, and the air reeked of dread. "You die." A sharp-toothed smile, opening a dark maw in the pale face, spread over the pasty features as the wraith reached for him.

Gabriel returned the wraith's gloating grin with a purely wicked smile of his own. "Go to hell," he told it. At the same time as the wraith's suckered hand made contact with the flesh over his heart, his fingers completed the final computer sequence.

With a satisfying hum of power, the shield rose impenetrably over the city. The wraith were unable to beam more forces in. At the same time, the hunter sank to his knees, gasping in pain. What he had felt before was incomparable to this. When the wraith had latched on to him days ago, its grip had been weak, concentrated on his arm. Now, the wraith grasped him tightly, and a violent ripping twisted his soul within him.

It leant down on him. "You have accomplished nothing," it told him smugly. "You have given us the power we need. Our brethren will join us later – but you have not kept us from your planet. We have your people, and soon, we will own your world. You have not trapped us here."

The harsh pull on his spirit grew stronger, and Gabriel knew with satisfaction that time had almost run out. "Yes, I have," he gritted out.

He gave the wraith no chance to misunderstand his words. In its fury, the parasite that had latched onto him increased the pull, forcing life from his flesh. With a howl of triumph, Gabriel gave in to the forces pulling at him, and opened himself to the power hidden in the depths of his soul.

The intensity that seared the air around him came from far beyond the wraith's knowledge, from a time before the legends of the humans they had evolved from. It scorched the air with brilliant radiance, setting the whole of Atlantis afire in its glow. Pure, cleansing light burned with implacable power, turning flesh to ash and roaring throughout the halls of the Ancients' city.

It seemed to go on forever, but only a few seconds passed before Atlantis was cast into shadow of daylight once more. Profound silence settled easily over the city of the Ancients, familiar with the halls and rooms that had once housed beings of great power, and would again. For now, where before there had been voracious, clinging life, there was only the dust of the dead.

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Heh. I'm evil . . . .but on the upside, I'm not quite as stuck as I was before! And no, this isn't the end.


	9. Chapter 9

Gabriel blinked, and found himself covered in a fine layer of dust and ash. He groaned softly, in exhaustion and disgust, before slowly rolling to his side, away from the mess of dead wraith. Once there, he used the moment to breathe, and then sat up, glancing at his watch. He had only been out for a few minutes, if that. His body wanted sleep desperately, but there was still too much to be done.

He glanced at the crisped corpses, a brow raising in wry humor. "I'll bet that's upsetting," he muttered.

The wraith had been purged from Atlantis – but the threat had not diminished, and the Atlantis team was still captive. When he searched through the stars, he quickly found the two hive ships waiting, orbiting the planet to doggedly follow the city through the rotation of the sea below it.

He sat for a moment, thinking. He knew the possibility was good that as he struggled to formulate a plan, people he knew – his _friends_ – were dying. But more would die if he failed, and that was not an option. So he took his time, allowing his tired mind to revive. The plan that came to him was almost as suicidal as the one he had just implemented – but with luck, this time it would work properly.

So he pulled himself into the seat that was presently on level with his nose, ignoring the blackened husks of wraith scattered in an eerie circle around him. Finding the proper controls, he input a specific sequence – and the shield fell.

As he had thought, no sooner had the comforting hum of power faded away than wraith once more surrounded him. This time, a female was dominant out of the horde. Her pale blonde hair, almost white, fanned out behind her as she approached him. Recognition lit a fire of fury in her eyes. "You," she hissed, the anger nearly strong enough to touch.

Then she told him something that he dreaded to hear. "Your face has been burned into the minds of all my kind."

"What can I say?" he goaded her, hiding his exhaustion but unable to move from his chair. "I'm just that kind of guy."

Her fingers wrapped tightly around his throat, cutting off his words and breath simultaneously. "You murdered my people, with a fire from within. What is this power?"

Her fingers loosened enough for him to speak, but only just barely. "Sorry," he croaked. His lungs were begging for oxygen, but the rest of him was too exhausted to even gasp against her hold. Blackness swirled in his vision. "You don't have the proper security clearance."

She snarled, her face much closer to his. The other wraith, who had busied themselves with the computers rather than pay attention to the bodies of their fellows, directed their focus once more at the lone human. Still, remembering the hot fire that had ripped painfully through their minds, they kept behind the bodies of those who had already fallen.

"Your life is mine, human," she snarled, the words guttural and deep. Her hand descended then, to rest its strange sucker at the base of his throat. "I share your deaths with all my people."

And the pain began.

"Guess again," Gabriel gritted out.

Her smug certainty left no room in her for doubt. She could feel the life force under her – oh, so strong! – vibrating with shocking, delicious intensity. It resisted, as few ever had, and she grasped it all the more tightly, seeking the life he kept hidden inside.

Then Gabriel opened himself, his soul and his mind. Through the wraith that was killing him, he reached out to all the beings connected to her, on the ships circling above and a few feet away. Before she realized what he had done, he unleashed the storm within, and knew no more.

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"What the hell -" Rodney gaped in shock.

Sheppard, pacing irritably, was immediately at his side.

They had been sitting, untouched, in this cell for only an hour before anything happened.

He had been working feverishly with several of the other scientists when Sheppard had come looking for him. Mere moments later, the wraith beams had begun scanning the city, and before he knew what had happened, McKay had found himself on the wraith hive ship. Luckily, he hadn't been alone – but they had been easily overpowered, and tossed in here. They were tensely waiting for the first of the members of the Atlantis team to be marched by them on their way to death. From the few shouts they had been able to communicate with before the menace of the wraith descended upon them, demanding silence, they could account for over three-quarters of the Atlantis team. They had been beamed up in drips and drabs, placed in cells as they were kidnapped from their homes. McKay didn't know why the shield hadn't been up, but he could make a good guess.

Once Sheppard had realized that their cell was the farthest on the end, and that anyone entering or leaving this corridor had to pass by them first, he had been relieved. Then he had set a watch, keeping the scientists he was imprisoned with busy. To their credit, no one was panicking, but tempers were worn thin and the tension was high.

Moments later, his vigilance was rewarded. Wraith marched by, with an unconscious human in their midst.

"Who is it?" Sheppard hissed. He was at the opposite end of the cell, and his angle was blocked by the wraiths' bodies.

"I can't -"

"McKay?"

The scientist swallowed, crouching low and craning his neck to be sure, as the wraith passed. But Sheppard caught a flash of dusky skin, and knew. "It's Ford."

"Shit!" The major cursed lowly, not needing the scientists to become overwrought. "We need to get out of here!"

But the cell was tightly locked. The bars, weblike and _alive_, were strong.

After thirty minutes only, however, they had been alerted to the fact that something was wrong. Nothing was done or said, but the wraith began to scour the corridor, opening the cells and searching through the occupants. Surprisingly, no one was taken for questioning – or to die, as fodder for these insatiable parasites.

A full hour passed, and suddenly cries rang out down the corridor, as the prisoners all noticed the same thing at once. The wraith drones before their cells were glowing, a fire burning within them. A horrible smell reached McKay – the stench of burning meat; but it was like nothing he had ever smelled in his life. Gagging, he turned away, and so did not see what happened next. Sheppard was staring, and McKay kept his face turned away. An almost gentle thump caught his attention next, and he looked before he could help himself. Only a few deep breaths kept the nausea that rose at the sight under control.

The wraith was now a corpse, twisted, and blackened, the flesh almost melted beyond recognition of the body it had once been. Sheppard reached out a slow, cautious hand.

McKay's eyes widened when he saw the other's intent. "I don't think that's such a good -"

Sheppard touched the corpse carefully, and jerked back in shock as the flesh crumbled to nothing under his hand. "Son of a bitch!"

One of the scientists in the back had turned to the wall, and was throwing up.

Sheppard glanced back, but continued to test the bars of the cage. They did not yield, unchanged by whatever event had contrived to kill all the guards. A sudden thought froze McKay. "Listen," he commanded, and the others turned to him in surprise. "No," he waved his hands impatiently. "_Listen!_"

"What?" asked one woman softly, after a moment of almost sheer silence.

"Nothing," Sheppard answered, looking shrewdly at McKay. "No noise."

"Right," McKay continued, words coming quickly in the excitement of discovery. "No guards coming to take the place of these."

"So either the wraith telepathy isn't all it's cracked up to be, or -"

"Or whatever it was that killed these guards killed all the wraith on the hive ship," McKay finished.

"So all we have to do is get out of here and we're home free," Sheppard answered.

McKay nodded, and with that one motion a new hope sprang to life in the scientists. Within moments, there were three different, coordination actions going on. One small group of the scientists was calling out to the others trapped with them, trying to coordinate their efforts and take a rough head count. Another was going over all they knew of the wraith ships, trying to think of ways out and what they would do once they were free to get back to Atlantis. The final group was working with Sheppard and McKay, testing all the doors and walls to the cells, looking for a way out.

When the escape came, however, it arrived from a forgotten quarter. "Hold it," came one of the scientists in communication with the other prisoners. He gestured authoritatively to McKay, Sheppard and the rest. "The others are out, and making their way toward us."

"How?" Sheppard warily needed to know.

"Teyla," came the calm response. "Zelenka was with her, and had the idea of having her try to use her wraith genes to open the door. She was being blocked by the wraith from trying it before, but it's working now."

"Good. We've got to get Ford. If he's still alive," Sheppard noted bleakly.

As the Atlantis crew was being freed, they continued to follow Teyla, who gathered her people to her carefully. Weir walked at her side, and the two women, and the rest of Atlantis, came at long last to the end of the corridor.

When all the cells had been opened, Sheppard had the military immediately break into their teams and do a head count, while McKay organized the scientists, Weir took control of the civilians, Beckett saw to the medical staff and Teyla cared for the Athosians. They needed to be underway as soon as possible.

Finally, he turned to his own. "Ford is missing," he stated. "Are any other teams short?" He didn't really expecting an affirmative; he hadn't seen the wraith remove anyone aside from Ford and none of the others appeared to have been harmed. They had been very lucky. But they needed to find Ford, and get the hell out of here.

A tall, sandy-haired man stepped forward, his eyes dark with concern. "Sir," he said lowly, and several pairs of eyes turned to him in surprise. "My team is down one man. Private Venner is missing."

Sheppard frowned. The news was more disturbing than any of the listeners knew, but he kept his immediate thoughts to himself. "The wraith took him?"

"No sir," Devor responded sharply. "We were with him when the transport beam brought us to the hive ship – he wasn't taken. My team and I believe that, if he's not here, then he's still in Atlantis, sir."

Sheppard sucked in a breath. "Or he was transported somewhere else, possibly to the other hive ship." Devor's face darkened at the news, his jaw clamping tight.

"I want a count," Sheppard snapped out to the others. "Now!"

"All my staff are accounted for," Beckett answered, relief on his face.

"I'm missing one," McKay told him, face tight. "Anthony Marzak."

Sheppard's face hardened, but he nodded and turned to Weir. She shook her head. "All my staff are accounted for."

"Teyla?"

The woman smiled at him. "My people are safe," she assured him.

Sheppard nodded sharply. "Good. We're down by three men – Anthony Marzak, a tech, and Private Gabriel Venner. The wraith took Ford – I want everyone to be on alert. We've got to find him, if he's still alive in this hellhole."

Weir nodded, looking at the others. "Tell your people to be on the lookout," she instructed. Surprised, the others relayed the news that one of the Atlantis team was missing, and it came as a source of shock and anger to all those gathered in the hall of the hive ship. They had miraculously been delivered from death's door, and the thought that three of their own had not lived to see salvation made anger start in even the mildest hearts.

"We need a way out of here," Weir continued calmly, projecting over the murmurs. She easily took control of the situation. "We're not out of the woods yet. Are there any suggestions?"

"Yes," McKay spoke up immediately. "If we can find a way to reverse the transport beams on the hive ships, then I believe we can reprogram them to beam us directly down from Atlantis."

Weir nodded at him appraisingly.

"Well then," Sheppard said, relief and caution filling him in equal measure. "Let's get the hell out of here."

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Reuploaded as of 12/18/05.


	10. Chapter 10

The military went first, clearing the way for the civilians who were kept securely protected as they followed behind. Three teams of four were sent to scout out ahead, checking side halls and rooms for the missing men.

Sheppard was always cautious, though it soon became clear that he needn't have bothered. All they discovered of the wraith were charred corpses, crumbling to dust with the vibrations of their footsteps as the members of the Atlantis team walked by. Shock at the sheer number of dead wraith imposed a silence on them, and they traveled through the ship with minimal conversation. Athosian parents covered the eyes of their children, grimly taking in the disaster wreaked on their bitterest enemy. There was satisfaction in their eyes, if not joy at the sight.

It was a good ten minutes before a shout sounded up ahead. Sheppard moved to the head of the large group, halting their progress. A scout team had found something.

That something was Ford, strapped down to a disconcertingly human-shaped table. He was unconscious, and looking around the room, Sheppard was grateful for it. There were at least six dead wraith, one of which was half on top of the lieutenant. Another looked to have just missed landing on him as it fell. He was held down by the same strange half-alive webbing that had blocked their cells, and the implements scattered across the floor gave Sheppard pause. "Get Beckett," he finally ordered.

When Carson arrived, the bodies had been piled in a corner and the bindings pried from the captured man's body. His breathing was slow, his olive skin pale. There were injection marks on his body. Most worryingly, there were signs that at least one wraith, and perhaps two, had tried to feed off of him. To the eye, Ford was unchanged, but Carson's brow furrowed at the needle-marks in his skin. It was several long moments before he pronounced the lieutenant able to be moved.

After a good deal of wandering, they finally found the central control area Teyla had seen in her connection to the wraith. The place was absolutely littered with bodies, and Sheppard refused to let the scientists in until they had been cleared away. The unpleasant job took a surprisingly short time, and in the meantime Weir got the remainder of the civilians settled nearby. Beckett's team took care of those who had sustained injuries during the transport to the wraith ship – and there were several – but there was no food. The children were hungry, and Weir knew that the majority of the Atlantis team, working day and night to prevent the attack, had tapped into their last energy reserves. Her people needed to rest.

"Come and take a look at this," Rodney interrupted her, as she leant against the wall, musing over her people.

"What is it, Rodney?"

The scientist pointed at the console in front of him, punching a few buttons, and on the holographic display in front of them rose a vision of Atlantis. "This is a few hours ago. Apparently all the external sensors were blown out by a massive energy surge, and the last recording is -"

McKay was cut off by a sudden change in the hologram in front of them. Replaying the last moments recorded by the wraith's sensors, they could see a glow begin to emanate from Atlantis – it grew impossibly brighter, a white light iridescent and powerful, making them squint to see even in the hologram. It increased in strength until they were nearly blinded, and then cut off abruptly, leaving the watchers to blink the ethereal afterimage of the city from their eyes.

"That was the last the sensors could take," Rodney continued. "The visual ones, at least. The readouts I can decipher show that the energy output from Atlantis was phenomenal. I can't account for it."

"Is the shield up?" Weir asked worriedly. If so, it would seriously hamper their attempts to return to the city.

Rodney rewound and replayed the tape. They watched as the beams from the ships scoured the city, knowing that they were witnessing their own kidnapping, and the first stage of the attack. Elizabeth clamped down hard on a distressed shudder. Not long after the beams disappeared, the shield went up, and stayed that way for about thirty minutes before abruptly coming down. Shortly after that, the glow began brightening the city. Rodney halted the recording, knowing what they would see.

"It doesn't look like it," he reported.

Elizabeth breathed a quiet, relieved sigh. "Good," she nodded assertively. "Work with Dr. Zelenka – see how quickly you can figure out the wraith transporter beams."

Beckett approached then, looking between the two anxiously. "I need to get Lt. Ford back to the infirmary as soon as I can. How close are we to returning to Atlantis?"

Weir looked at Rodney.

McKay nodded, accepting her faith in him, and shifted to make room for the small Czech scientist. The two began quickly conversing in low tones, the other scientists doing all they could to obtain useful data from the remaining wraith computers.

Weir locked eyes with Beckett. "Soon."

It was when McKay and his team figured out how to use the transporter beams that Weir made an unpleasant realization.

"Well, that's that," Rodney stated proudly. "We're ready to return."

Elizabeth nodded, facing both Rodney and John. "I want you to develop a team, composed of at least ten individuals, five from each of your teams," she told them. "Make sure that they know how to use the transporter beams."

"Why?" Sheppard asked suspiciously.

"I'll stay," Rodney volunteered immediately.

"You're leaving them here." John was not pleased, precisely.

Weir looked at him carefully. "This is the best chance we'll ever have to study wraith technology. We'll have no way to get back if we abandon the ships now; and there's the off chance that their orbits could deteriorate and pose a serious threat to the city and the planet. Yes, I'm leaving a team here."

Sheppard's care for his people in the short term was overrun by the potential profits from long-term goals. There was also a distinct defensive advantage from allowing a team to remain and become familiar with the technology. "How many supplies can we spare for them?" he asked instead.

Weir relaxed a little, and said, "Enough."

Sheppard nodded. "Alright. McKay, after you transport the Athosians and civilians back to Atlantis, I want to send two teams to the other wraith ship. Can you do that?"

Rodney nodded swiftly. "Of course."

It was no sooner spoken than done. Weir had already organized the entire group into smaller teams to be transported down to the city, herself and Sheppard, as well as two military teams – one of which was missing a member – back to the city. They had no idea what they would find when they arrived.

The sight was not what they expected.

Moving quickly from the area in which the beam had deposited them, Sheppard had to step sideways to avoid stepping on a charred corpse. Others in the team had not been so lucky – a grunt of disgust sounded behind him, and someone swore, accompanied by a soft crunching sound.

Beckett, with three of his people, rushed Ford to the infirmary. Three men jogged ahead of them, weapons at the ready for anything they might encounter on the way there.

The rest had time to get clear of the beam's radius, and were busy taking in the sight before them, when the sound of more of the Atlantis team arriving reached their ears.

The place looked to be the sight of a bizarre slaughter. Blackened corpses drifting to piles of ash were liberally scattered throughout the room, marring the once-spotless room and jarring the senses. The strangest thing, Sheppard couldn't help but notice, was the lack of any smell at all. It was something the body prepared for at the sight, but even the odor of smoke was mysteriously absent.

The sound of another group of civilians arriving was blocked by a sudden shout in the control platform. Sheppard raced to the source of the sound, but others were closer. So he had to push his way past one of his own men, frozen in shock or horror, when he reached the top of the stairs.

The bodies here were thickly piled in a rough circle about one of the main control consoles. The center was a ground zero, the floor color rippling slightly from where an intense power wave had generated and blasted outward.

In the center of the circle a man was lying. He looked as if he had been carelessly dropped there, limbs in a sprawl, and left for dead. It was the missing SF, Private Gabriel Venner.

Sheppard took in all of this in a flash, and despite his certainty that the man was dead – _nothing_ had survived that, after all – he vaulted over the ring of bodies to crouch at his side, and feel for a pulse.

To his shock, the skin beneath his fingers was warm. The pulse, when he finally found it, was slow but steadily growing stronger.

"He's alive," Sheppard called back, unable to hide his surprise. More than that, though – the man was awake. Looking back down at the face, John found his gaze ensnared by hazel eyes that were strangely golden, blinking up at him in confusion.

"Gabe?" came a voice behind him. One of the men on the man's team, no doubt.

Upon hearing his name, the confusion drifted from Venner's eyes, leaving him quite aware of his surroundings. He started to sit up, but Sheppard placed a hand on his chest, forcing him back down. "Take it easy," he ordered.

He snatched his hand away, however, when the other's face twisted, for a moment only, in pain. Sheppard turned about to see that, true to form, the members of the Atlantis team had made themselves useful. The civilians were helping the military to clear away the corpses. The three soldiers still in the control room, Sheppard noted, were the three members of Venner's team. The remainders of techs and military had returned to the 'gateroom below.

"Get a medic," Sheppard quietly ordered the team's leader, Hank Devor. The man's eyes widened, then narrowed, and he strode quickly away.

Defiant eyes met his when he turned back to the man on the floor, to find that Venner had slowly raised himself to a sitting position. But the man seemed content to move no further, so Sheppard merely glared. The expression was met by a calmly raised eyebrow.

"Tell me, Private," Sheppard drawled, grudgingly impressed by how easily the man was able to irritate him, even while injured. "How did you get to be left all alone down here?"

"Just lucky I guess," he whispered.

There was something . . . different, something off, about his voice. Disregarding the whisper, the tone seemed somehow more resonant than any human's should be.

"You're hurt?" Sheppard probed, quick to catch the difference and wanting to push the man into talking so he could pin down what was truly setting his senses alert.

Instead of answering, however, Gabriel shifted his shoulders, and tilted his head back to rest against the console. The collar of his shirt was tugged out of place, baring a strange wound at the base of his throat. Sheppard frowned at him, and carefully reached out to move the cloth more fully out of the way. The other seemed too exhausted to aid him, and tired beyond words.

There, he saw something he couldn't understand, and might never forget. Almost atop one another were the marks from where two separate wraith had tried to suck the soul from this man. Sheppard's mind worked quickly, trying to put the pieces together.

"Are you an ancient?" he demanded.

That surprised the other into opening his eyes, and those strange golden orbs stared incredulously at him. Then Venner laughed, and the sound, before he muffled it, was unlike anything Sheppard had ever heard – it was a whisper of truth in the tales told in church, a reminder of something sacred and forgotten, and he couldn't understand it at all. Still holding back his laughter, Venner shook his head.

His eyes drifted past Sheppard then, and the Major turned to see Beckett quickly approaching. The Doctor's shocked blue eyes said it all – even he, with his more intimate knowledge of Venner's condition, hadn't known what to make of the hologram. He certainly hadn't expected to find the man alive.

Beckett crouched down next to Sheppard, and said quietly, "Hello, Gabe."

The other smiled a little, and tilted his head back once more, closing his eyes with a sigh. His chest rose and fell evenly; he seemed to have slipped into sleep. Sheppard's mouth tightened – he wasn't particularly fond of waiting for answers. Beckett leant forward, taking the sleeping man's pulse.

"Doc, there's something you should see," John muttered, before anyone else could arrive. He tugged down the unconscious man's collar, knowing that Beckett would understand the import of the wounds. Carson's eyes widened, and he nodded. "I see," he breathed. And he did not protest when Sheppard covered the wounds again.

There was nothing more he could do.

So Sheppard left the mystery in Beckett's hands for now, and returned to Weir's side. Atlantis was being slowly freed from the wraith, every one of them dead, and reclaimed by the living descendants of her rightful inhabitants.

The last of the civilians arrived, and in short time the wraith bodies had been deemed fully decomposable, and dumped into the sea. Supplies were gathered and sent to those remaining on the hive ships, and Sheppard prepared to head a team to explore the second ship. That it hadn't responded to the commandeering of its companion by the Atlantis team was a telling sign of the extent of the destruction that had been brought to bear on the wraith, but it was not conclusive. A rotating shift schedule was worked out to relieve the members of the team still on the hive ship, and the civilians were escorted by military personnel throughout the reclaimed areas of Atlantis. It was almost like beginning from scratch again; they could no longer take their safety in this city for granted. While on the whole Atlantis was a benevolent host, the city had ghosts and terrors of its own.

But before the day was out, the Atlanteans had vigorously scouted the bounds of the habitable area, and Sheppard half-pitied the wraith who dared to confront them now. Tired and defiant, even the meekest of the scientists was showing a ferocity that would have surprised the Major, had he not before seen the protective loyalty of a people displaced and threatened. It was with great relief that the area was finally secured, and the people, civilians, scientist, military, could rest. The threat of the wraith had been hanging over them for so long that they had accepted their almost-inevitable deaths. It was with shocked disbelief and a resurgence of hope that they viewed life now.

There were a few, however, who could not rest. Teyla saw to her people, tirelessly ensuring their comfort and welfare. Beckett tended to the injured, keeping a special eye on his newest patient. The body of the missing tech, Anthony Marduk, had been discovered, and Weir was making the arrangements, speaking to the man's friends, and trying to offer comfort. Sheppard was taking stock of the duties and challenges that had arisen as a result of the past day, and his attention was also on the man who was lying, still asleep, in the Infirmary. The man's team were there now, and they could tell the Major nothing; they knew as little as he. Sheppard felt with keen certainty that the only one who had the answers to their questions was asleep, but he was content to wait now, sure in the knowledge that he would, eventually, find out what had happened to free Atlantis from the wraith.

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Reuploaded as of 12/18/05.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** I've been playing with this story a bit, and reuploading. So, this chapter won't make much sense unless you go back to 9 & 10 first.  Sorry.

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There was light, shining just beyond the shield of his closed eyes. He was only slowly returning to himself.

_"Abba?"_

But even as he mumbled the word, consciousness returned and he knew it could not be. Blinking into the light, Gabriel frowned at the world around him, trying to remember where he was.

"Ah, so ye're awake," came a satisfied voice.

Memory rushed back in an instant. His senses tingled – _danger_ was here, muted but present. But there was no urgency, just the constant threatening thrum in his mind. It was waiting.

Beckett's face looked him over carefully, searching for signs of something different, but Gabriel just shifted a little, maneuvering himself upright. An IV was dripping fluids into his arm, and he ran a hand over his face, feeling the brush of stubble there.

"How long was I asleep?" he managed, steadily sweeping the cobwebs from his brain. He was more rested than he had been in weeks – yet something was still not right. A sense of _wrongness_, nearby, jangled at him. He had to concentrate a moment, locking his nature tightly away. He could not afford to rouse more suspicion.

When he realized what he had just thought, in light of the previous circumstances, he could only just keep from rolling his eyes at his own foolishness.

"Two days," Beckett responded cheerfully, coming forward with stethoscope and cuff in order to take his blood pressure. Gabriel held his arm out patiently.

"What did I miss?"

"Well, ye're team's been right worried," Beckett easily evaded the question. "And as ye can probably tell, we're no longer under attack by the wraith." The doctor's blue eyes pinned him in place. "Thank you."

Gabriel looked away. What could he say? There was little use now in denying what he had done, and any further dissembling would only rouse more suspicions than it would placate.

"Was anyone hurt?"

Beckett didn't look at him. "Two." The answer was quiet, when it came. "Anthony Marduk was killed. We believe that he was at the site of the initial assault. The wraith wanted to prevent us from putting the shield up, which was what he was working on."

Gabe nodded. "I know."

Beckett shot him a look, but said nothing.

"And?"

The doctor glanced at him, distracted, as he counted heartbeats.

"You said that two were injured."

"Ah. Yes." Carson straightened, removing the stethoscope from his ears. "Ford was . . . used, by the wraith. From what I could tell, they were experimenting on him. He woke once, and was violent. He was restrained until his blood chemistry evened out – then I sedated him." Beckett looked to the curtain at Gabriel's right, for a moment.

"At the precise moment, there are far more questions about him than you. From what I can tell, you simply came down with exhaustion."

"I bet," Gabe murmured, giving Carson only half of his attention. "Who wants to see me?" He was conscious of a need for explanations, even if he didn't relish the prospect. Might as well get it over with.

Beckett paused, eyeing him carefully. "Sheppard, Weir, your team."

"In that order?" Gabe grimaced wryly.

Beckett quirked a grin at him, pulling the blood-pressure cuff off. Velcro protested loudly. "Pretty much," he retorted.

Gabriel was briefly thankful that the doctor, at least, was not pressuring him for answers.

"I already know everything I need to," Carson replied to his unspoken thought. "And I gave my report." He hesitated a moment before continuing. "From what I've seen from your bloodwork, and the experiments I've been running the past few weeks, this biological impulse of yours is completely unique and purely instinctual."

Gabriel tilted his head in bemusement.

"Ye have no control," Carson elaborated. "It's something like a lizard sacrificing its tail to escape capture by a predator. Biochemically, of course, not physically. It happens under extreme duress, and ye're left to recover afterward." He frowned, deep in thought. "It's more than likely a mutation. Hmm."

Gabriel bit back a smile at the esoteric, if apt, example. He settled more comfortably against the pillows, the doctor sitting next to him. "The official story," Carson broke the silence, moving to listen to Gabe's heart, "is that a security protocol was activated by the massive presence of wraith in the city. It released a biochemical and physical defense system built into Atlantis by the Ancients. That's what caused the shield to drop, and the light to blow out the wraith sensors."

He looked up, and on seeing Gabriel's blank stare, hurriedly told him of what had occurred to the entirety of the Atlantis team on the wraith hive ships. A few minutes later and much wiser, Gabriel was impressed at their ingenuity. "It was all McKay's idea," Carson informed him.

Gabriel raised a brow, wondering at his own surprise. He should have known.

"I'll just check these, then, and you're all set."

Brought back to the present with the words, Gabriel raised a brow. Beckett was gently removing a thick bandage from its place at the base of his throat. _The wraith bites_, he realized.

The marks themselves had almost disappeared after two days of rest. Nothing but pale bruises and old scabs covered the cuts made by the suckers in the wraiths' palms. If Beckett was surprised at the speed of the healing, he gave no indication.

Gabriel was awake long enough to eat before Sheppard entered the medical ward. Gabriel managed to keep from tensing up, but he couldn't fight the instinctive reaction that had him mustering the entirety of his being and removing it, sliding away from the notice of those around him. It had never worked on Sheppard, and all he could think was that it must be that damn Ancient gene again.

The moment of disquiet did not go unnoticed, but Sheppard didn't call him on it. Rather, he slouched comfortably in a nearby chair, and asked for Gabe's report.

Gabe gave it to him.

It was succinct, detailing his actions as the wraith kidnapped the Atlantis team, putting down his escape of the transporter beams to sheer luck; and it had been, more or less. He admitted to trying to use the ability he had to kill the wraith, and stretched the truth when he told Sheppard he hadn't expected to encounter so many wraith in one area. He truthfully admitted surprise on still being alive.

Sheppard nodded, seemingly accepting everything he was told. The Major waited until Gabe finished speaking. Leaning forward, he pinned the SF with steely eyes. "You haven't told me everything."

"Sir?"

Sheppard would not be deterred. He stared hard at Gabriel, waiting for an answer. Long, silent minutes passed. The other was unperturbed by the silence, and Sheppard nodded slowly.

Battle lines had been drawn, then. Sheppard would never stop watching or searching until he found the answer to what he had seen and heard from Gabriel in the control room. But Venner was in no way about to tell him.

Nothing more was to be said, but the rising controversy between them didn't need that simple acknowledgement. Both men were well aware of the situation.

Gabe's report to Weir was much more concise, and the explanation he gave his team was even simpler. Yet he was aware, the entire time that he spoke, of Sheppard, visiting his lieutenant, within easy hearing distance on the other side of a screen that was no block to sound.

As he moved and spoke, Gabriel gained strength and color, though Beckett insisted that he remain in the infirmary for at least two days before he was allowed back on active duty.

That night, with few eyes watching, Gabriel slipped from his bed and to his feet. Treading silently across the floor, clad in light scrubs, he pushed past the curtain to the right of his bed. And pulled up short.

The man lying there was only visibly unchanged from whatever the wraith had done to him. But as he got closer, Gabe realized that the source of the unease he had been feeling all day was emanating from the man – a boy in his eyes – unconscious in this bed.

He moved closer, the floor chill to his bare feet.

One more step.

The man on the bed didn't move, but Gabriel knew he was rising from sleep, consciousness spurred by the approach of a threat.

There were new, tiny lines around his eyes. Looking closely, Gabriel could see signs of the attack in the bags under Ford's eyes, and the looseness of his skin. There was no sign of the needle marks he had overheard Beckett muttering over, the lieutenant's rapid healing a source of confusion. Unlike Gabriel, whose medical history was sparse, Ford had a much more complete file, one that had expanded upon arriving in Atlantis. The only explanation lay with the wraith. But what, exactly, had they done?

Gabriel reached out a hand, his fingers gently resting on the other's wrist.

As if sensing his thoughts, Ford's eyes snapped open.

Expecting the rapid reaction, Gabriel didn't move. Even when the body on the bed struggled against the restraints, bloodshot eyes rolling in a panic, he did not move.

Instead, he assessed the man before him.

Something was wrong. Somehow, something the wraith had done had left him indelibly marked. There was a disconcerted jangle to his senses, warning him of a threat – but he could clearly see that something had been done to the man before him. He might be a threat, but he was also an innocent.

Until that which was within him drove him to –

Gabriel ruthlessly cut the thought off.

Ford had stopped struggling, now, staring at him. A trapped animal, backed into a corner. Gabriel was not unaware of the sudden danger.

In a surprisingly swift move, Ford's hand twisted just as the SF's fingers loosened from his wrist. Ford grabbed Gabriel's hand in his own, and the other froze.

Something was pulling at him; only faintly, but still. Perhaps Ford couldn't feed like a wraith, but he was nevertheless trying to. Even if he didn't know it. Gabriel could feel his own spirit rising to meet it, his soul now familiar – too familiar – with this kind of an attack.

He wrenched his hand away, shoving the power down and jumping back. Quelling the instinctive reaction, he stared hard at Ford, reminding himself that the man was blameless.

Ford's eyes were not trapped now. Gabriel could see the sly calculation buried behind the confusion there. The lieutenant blinked, more of the man emerging from underneath the machinations of the wraith.

Gabriel stepped back before he could speak, slipping past the curtain and moving softly through the moonlight. The nurse on call was scandalized to see him on his feet, but much more concerned when he told her that Ford was awake. She went to check on the man, and Gabriel hovered unobtrusively nearby, protecting them both. But nothing disturbed the calm of the night, and when he peered carefully around the curtain, he saw that Ford had lapsed back into sleep with his disappearance. Emerging, the nurse was horrified that he was still on his feet, and ushered him back to bed, brooking no protests.

The two days' worth of bed rest was intensified after Beckett heard of his nighttime wanderings. There was a nurse posted just outside his small, curtained-off bed for the next two nights, preventing any more such jaunts.

As a result, he missed most of the active clean-up and reestablishment of Atlantis. Wasting no time, the hive ships and much of the city were scouted for wraith presence. None were found, though the occasional pile of ash betrayed their former presence. The only spark on his senses grated from a mere ten feet away.

Being forced to stay in the infirmary, however, led to unexpected advantages.

"It's a wraith enzyme," was Beckett's final pronunciation. Gabriel could hear the frown in his voice.

"Well, surely it's worked its way out of his system by now?" the civilian head of Atlantis sounded confused.

Weir and Sheppard were both speaking to Carson; the latter directly concerned for one of his men and a member of his team, the former because what Beckett had discovered posed an unprecedented threat to the Atlantis venture.

"Not hardly. Look." Gabriel raised a brow at Beckett's grim tone. "I've found the same enzyme stored in sacs near the apertures in the palms of the wraith. They apparently use it to drain macroprotein complexes and cellular bioelectric currents from their prey."

"What?" Sheppard's notable temper had run thin.

Beckett heaved a sigh. "It's the juice the wraith use to suck the life from humans, for lack of better description. We don't really know what it actually targets in the human system yet, as it seems to act on a variety of – well. The point is that this enzyme isn't being purged from Ford's bloodstream by normal means, such as the endocrine or immune systems. It's lingering, having a lasting effect on body, and brain and blood chemistry."  
"And the result?" Weir moved, the sound of her footsteps circling around the bed and coming to a stop near Ford's head.

Gabriel didn't need to see to know Beckett was shaking his head. "I'm afraid that it could be creating a dependency."

There was an incredulous silence, a pause before the storm.

"You mean Ford's addicted to wraith death-juice?" The expected explosion was no less venomous for its low volume.

"Essentially."

"What will it take to break the addiction?" Weir finally asked.

"I couldn't predict that, at this point."

"I want you to do the best you can to figure it out," Sheppard snapped. "He's pulled from active duty until then, and I am _not_ losing a member of my team to the wraith."

Gabriel could help himself no longer. Though he knew it would do no good, he turned to stare at the curtain walling him off from the sedated man, and the three who contemplated his future over his unconscious form. He had to shake his head, and stopped listening with an effort, turning his attention to the book in his hand. It had been something dropped off for him by Dylan. He had only one more day to go, before he was released.

When he was finally back on his feet, Gabe returned to full duty. With the excuse to his team that he was fully medically cleared, and with his superiors well aware of the situation, there was no more need for his medically inactive status.

And so he was on 'gate-duty three days later, when they were attacked.

"What's wrong, Gabe?"

Dylan's impatience scratched for his attention. The other smiled, a little hesitantly, his eyes still roving the gateroom.

"Nothing," he answered.

"You're wound tighter than a spring," Pete commented, crouched for cover and facing the 'gate. "Even I can see it." Incidentally, Pete was parked across the room from his friend.

"Funny," Gabe sniped back. He shifted his stance, a little, and glanced over his shoulder again.

"Venner." Hank this time. He must be more obvious than he thought, if they were all picking up on it. He didn't usually disregard his instincts, but the idea that they could be attacked from behind, from within, was –

"Something's wrong."

The others stared at the crispness of his words.

"We're more likely to be attacked from the gate than from the control room," Pete pointed out. Gabriel didn't miss the speaking glance the other shared with Hank.

They had been actively hovering over the past few days, since his release from the infirmary. They couldn't quite believe that he wasn't dead, and didn't know why not. He could sense the tension there, the need for more answers than he could give. They saw him too clearly, and refused to let him slide from their memories. Like the rest of the Atlantis team, they clung to the reality of his existence, when even _he_ would deny it. He had no explanation they would believe, but they wouldn't accept his half-answers for much longer. They also deserved more of the truth than he could give them, but there was nothing to be done about that.

"I know," he finally responded, stretching out his senses. He perked up again, catching something, _there_ – something familiar. Hazel eyes widened. "What?"

Blasts from a stun weapon tore through the control room, all four men in the 'gateroom spinning to focus on the balcony above. Blue bolts died out, and a sudden noise _behind_ them made Gabriel twitch.

"Shawcross! Heath! The 'gate!" Hank roared.

Pete and Dylan whirled to cover the Stargate, as they were the ones closest to it on each side. Chevrons were locking, and in moments the wormhole burst into life, collapsing back into the shimmering event horizon. Though he didn't see it, the sudden glow illuminated the 'gateroom.

It was then that something deep within his mind screamed a warning, from that strange sense that mortals didn't even have. He strained to see . . .

A burst from a wraith stun weapon took Dylan down, but they still couldn't see the target. When the attacker stepped out from behind a sheltering wall, however, he used the second of shock that hit them to take out Hank. Pete whirled, but neither he nor Gabe fired. It was one of their own.

Ford strode forward, and Gabriel dove out of sight. Pete scrambled for cover on the opposite side. Gabriel poked his head carefully up, seeing Ford walk confidently toward the wormhole.

At that moment, Pete burst from cover, firing a burst from his P-90 at shin height, clearly aiming to disable. Moving faster than should be possible – wraith speed, Gabriel's intuition told him – Ford dodged out of the way, lifted the stun weapon and fired a deadly accurate shot. Pete went down – but Gabriel was presented with Ford's back.

Silent and swift, he launched himself forward, tackling the lieutenant to the ground. There was noise behind him, telling him that reinforcements had arrived, but they were in too close for anyone to do anything.

The stun weapon had gone flying.

Ford rolled over, grappling desperately with Gabriel. His strength was strange, wild eyes unseeing. Gabriel broke his hold easily, trying to flip the other and pin him, but Ford wrenched free with little care for pain. They were alarmingly close to the event horizon, and Ford paused a moment.

Gabriel had him.

And then, with the flat of his hand, Ford slapped his palm onto Gabriel's wrist. With the contact, power poured through the hunter, and he gasped in surprise, yanking it down and away. In the moment that his concentration slipped, Ford was free, rolling through the event horizon.

The hunter growled a curse in a long-dead language as the wormhole died, rolling to his feet. He was greeted by the muzzles of fifteen M-16's, and froze.

"Stand down." John Sheppard lowered his own weapon, eyes scanning the room now that the threat had escaped. Temper sparked in blue eyes. "He's gone."

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Well, now that exams are over for a while, and I actually have some time to myself, I'm back!


	12. Chapter 12

"Report."

Gabriel didn't bother paying attention as Hank began detailing that morning's disaster. His team had recovered quickly from the effects of the stun-weapons. They were now in the briefing room, bringing Sheppard up to speed.

"Dismiss. Venner, stay."

Half-standing, Gabriel sank back into his chair, as his team gave him curious and concerned glances. Moments later, he was alone with Sheppard, the other man's eyes boring into him, searching for answers.

"Sir?"

"Tell me, Private Venner, how you knew that Ford was coming."

Gabriel shook his head. "I didn't, sir. Not really."

"Beckett told me that you saw him when he was in the infirmary. At night. Coincidentally, at a time when no one would see you. Can you honestly tell me that you didn't help him escape?"

Gabriel started, surprised at the accusation. Once he thought about it, however, he realized that many of the signs did point that way. And that Sheppard had neatly corralled him into giving the man some of the answers he wanted.

Gabriel raised a brow at the other, who had noted his surprise with satisfaction. "Sir. I did not."

He knew Sheppard believed him. But the man wouldn't admit it until he heard an answer. The Major leant back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest, waiting.

"Sir. I could feel that there was something . . .wrong with Lt. Ford. It was like . . ." Gabriel struggled to put words to a sensation that wasn't physical. "Like an itch under my skin," he offered at last. "I felt it in the Infirmary, and figured it had something to do with whatever the wraith did to him.

Sheppard sat forward incredulously. "You're telling me, that you can actually sense the wraith coming?"

Gabriel's eyes narrowed. "It's not exactly radar, sir," he snapped.

Irritation flashed over the other's face, but he checked himself. "We're launching a reconnaissance mission to search for Ford," Sheppard told him. "My team is going – and you're coming with us."

"I don't think that's a good idea, sir," Gabriel shot back immediately.

"Why?" Sheppard challenged him.

"The wraith know who I am." No need to mince words here; it would be a threat to all of Atlantis. "When they attacked me the second time in Atlantis, one said that I had been burned into the minds of their people – through their telepathy, I suppose. But as long as I'm _on_ Atlantis, whatever threat the wraith pose is counteracted by the fact that I'm here."

"It is _not_ your job to protect all of Atlantis," Sheppard snapped. "You have a high opinion of yourself, Private."

Gabriel rolled his eyes; the man irritated him more easily than anyone he had met in the last two decades. "I know my capabilities," he retorted. "Sir."

"I seriously doubt that," Sheppard informed him. "Regardless, you're coming with us. We leave at 1300. Be in the 'gateroom, and be prepared."

Gabriel frowned, saluted, and left.

Caught in the lies he had been spinning. He shook his head, ruefully. "'_Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive.'_ Dammit." He was just getting pulled deeper and deeper into it; here was the proof that he was very off his game then. How had he gotten so lax over the years? No matter, there was nothing to do for it now.

He espied his team, and felt only burdened by the knowledge that they had waited for him. Yet another group of people who saw more of him than he would have liked. People who he had lied to, and who were slowly but surely growing impatient with those lies.

Not for the first time, he wondered if his time here was growing thin. He would only have a few opportunities to leave; but _could_ he? The knowledge that his duty in the Pegasus galaxy was not complete sat easily within him; it was less simple to figure out _how_ to stay. And he had made a promise . . .

He had learned, in all his years, that nothing happened without a reason. He would not begrudge Carl his promise, even now – now that the weight of a new galaxy rested upon him. He was no stranger to responsibility; the thought that he might not begin in this world to fight the battles he had won in another, did not even cross his mind.

It was not a fate or a destiny, a purpose or a cause.

He was the Left Hand of God.

He existed to battle for humanity, to be both shield and sword-arm for the fragile children of his Father.

To begrudge his lot, or bemoan the load upon him, was not in his nature.

It was simply who he was; and he could be no less.

So he walked up to his team, and explained to them that he was leaving with Sheppard in only three hours. They wanted to know why – but he had to get ready. So he promised that he would explain, once he returned. And he meant it.

It was strange to be on the other side, he mused. Standing by the 'gate, watching the chevrons encode and the dialing sequence complete, knowing his team was guarding the 'gate without him. He looked to see McKay, Teyla and Sheppard approaching, and spared a moment to wonder.

But all too soon, he was stepping into the wormhole behind them, the chill stealing his breath.

His feet hit the ground, his ears roars, and his skin prickled. He froze, staring about him, senses alert and blaring.

This world was dark, and overrun with dank trees, vines, and strange creatures. The sun might have been shining, but the day was overcast, throwing the world into shadow as their eyes strained to find some familiar reference. Twisted trunks, hung with blue-purple vines and devoid of leaves, covered the ground in every direction Gabriel could see. The wormhole cut off behind him, and he peered anxiously through the ring to look in every direction.

He saw nothing but more trees, and readied his weapon. The air was dank and heavy, strangely cold.

"Venner. We don't have all day," Sheppard hissed impatiently. "Stop staring."

An immediate response leapt to his lips. "The wraith are here, sir," was what he said instead.

McKay rolled his eyes. "No, really?" The scientist turned, murmuring under his breath, "Paranoia. You had to bring someone who's never been off-world?"

This last was aimed at Sheppard, who disregarded the scientist's comments. "Where?" he demanded.

Teyla, putting aside her own questions, looked ready to fight.

Gabriel took a few steps forward, vaguely horrified at the sensation sweeping over him. "Everywhere," he snapped. Eyes darted around them, as he tried to be more specific. "It's a wraith home world. There are none here, yet – but they know we came through the Stargate. They're coming, from that direction." Gabriel pointed to his left.

"You can't be serious," McKay snorted.

Teyla, at that moment, stilled. "He is right," she said softly. Her connection to the wraith was not in question, and even McKay shut up.

The scientist moved, away from the platform and toward the DHD.

"Wait. We're not leaving without Ford," Sheppard snapped. None of them were surprised. "How far away are they?"

Teyla shook her head. "I cannot tell – I only know that they are here, and coming closer."

Sheppard turned to Venner then, and Teyla stared at him in confused surprise.

"Two hundred yards, maybe," Gabriel answered lowly. "And closing through the trees, using them for cover."

"Take cover," Sheppard ordered. The four moved toward the trees, spreading to the opposite side from where the wraith were approaching. "McKay, at the DHD. I want you to dial us out as soon as it looks like they're getting close."

"It shouldn't be taking this long," Teyla murmured.

"What?" Gabe asked, hunkering down behind a tree.

Teyla positioned herself only a few feet away. "The wraith have technology that could snatch us from these woods and deliver us into their hands. They are silent and swift, with flying craft. Why do they walk on foot, through such difficult and perilous land, to seek us out?"

Gabriel had no time to think on her question.

"Venner," Sheppard hissed. "Can you find Ford?"

Even as his mouth formed a response, Gabriel was reaching _outward_, seeking for something. He heard Teyla suck in a quiet breath. "There's so many," he murmured, not truly seeing the forest around him. He looked around, with something like a child's wonderment. Sparks of life, livid and harsh, burned darkly against his mind. Hundreds of them, in the woods all around, growing closer and closer, using the haze of evil that enveloped the planet to camouflage their approach.

His eyes widened, and Gabriel dove forward, knocking Sheppard to the ground. "What the -"

A stun blast roared through the air where the Major's torso had been. "Teyla! Behind you!"

The Athosian whirled, firing her own weapon back toward the strange jangling at his senses.

"It's Ford," Gabriel breathed, rolling off Sheppard and coming to a crouch, but again he hesitated to fire. "Now what?" he shouted to Sheppard, making no effort to hide the exasperation in his voice.

"Beckett gave me tranq's. We need to take him down!" Sheppard scrambled up, fumbling at his side.

"Right," Gabriel breathed. "So easy." His head jerked up, hazel eyes wide. "The wraith! They're here!"

They were pinned down a mere second later, blue stun weapons firing in a deafening barrage across the meager clearing. Undaunted, Ford strode toward the DHD once more.

Sheppard made eye contact with McKay, tossing him a syringe.

Gabriel kept his attention on the wraith, covering them as best he could. Teyla was to his right, and the DHD behind them screened by protective fire from two directions. But Ford was approaching at his back, and Gabriel didn't like the knowing, itching sensation of a threat creeping up behind him.

He glanced back; Ford had almost reached the DHD.

Just as he slapped a hand on the first chevron, McKay reared up, needle in hand. He moved to plunge it into Ford's arm. He almost succeeded.

But the lieutenant, faster than anything human, grabbed the scientist's arm. The needle halted less than an inch from his skin. Two more chevrons lit up in that time.

Ford had the address dialed before Sheppard could fully come to his feet. By the time the Major's gun had centered on them, Ford had pulled McKay in front of him, syringe hovering threateningly at the scientist's neck.

Despite the noise of bullets thundering to the air, the space between Sheppard and Ford was deadly silent, and just as dangerous.

"Ford," Sheppard called evenly. "Let McKay go. You don't want to hurt him."

"Don't I?" The return snarl was anything but reassuring.

Gabriel and Teyla were occupied with the increasing wraith presence – they could offer no help. The SF knew that holding their positions was foolish – they only had a little time before the wraith, punched back by a barrage of bullets, picked themselves up and came after them again. The walking parasites were vicious and almost unstoppable. He glanced back again, listening to the words crossing the air behind him.

"No. You don't."

A low laugh. Ford was smoothly edging both himself and McKay toward the wormhole. Gabriel tensed; despite the furor of recent weeks, he had not forgotten his promise.

"Ford. Don't make me do this!"

They were at the event horizon, its blue glow lightening the still, frightened features of the scientist. Ford was mostly hidden behind the other's body.

"You can't," the lieutenant sneered back.

McKay moved. Bringing a forearm up between himself and the needle, he stomped, _hard_, on Ford's foot. At the same time, he slammed an elbow back into the younger man's solar plexus and dropped to the ground.

An expression of fury on his face, Ford slammed the needle home in McKay's unprotected side before rolling through the wormhole. Gabriel stared at the Stargate, memorizing the symbols. The wormhole cut off with a snap, and the hunter swore in a language older than the world around him. He hadn't gotten all the chevrons.

"Teyla! Fall back to the DHD!"

Sheppard wasted no time; the Athosian moved to dial back to Atlantis, sending her IDC through the gate as the Major moved forward to a different position, covering the remaining members of the team.

"Teyla! Go!" Sheppard shouted. Bullets slammed through the air. "Venner! Grab McKay and go!"

Gabriel shouted back, "What about you?"

"I'll be right behind! _Go!_"

Gabriel nodded, moving back. From the corner of his eye he saw Teyla dodge a stun blast through the wormhole. Moving up to the event horizon, he grabbed McKay's wrists, preparing to drag the man through. "Hope you're ready, Hank," he muttered to himself. "Coming in hot."

Making sure that Sheppard was just behind him, he snatched the scientist and hurled them both through the event horizon.

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I am alive! I apologize once more for disappearing so abruptly a few months ago; I was attempting to determine my future, but unfortunately, I've always been crappy at divination. But now that break is here, I can carve out more time for things I enjoy. I hope the swiftness of this chapter makes up a bit for the delays you've patiently dealt with the last several weeks.


	13. Chapter 13

"You're being reassigned?"

Gabriel met Hank's eyes. "Yes."

"I don't get it. Why would the Major reassign you with no warning? Did you have any idea this was coming?"

At that, Gabriel winced. But his eyes never left his team leaders'. Dylan and Pete were stunned silences at his flanks. But he owed them the truth; and here, in the empty commissary and off-duty, he could give at least some of it to them. "Yes."

"And you didn't say _anything_." Pete, quiet, hurt and a little bit of betrayal hidden in his eyes.

"No."

"So why tell us now?"

Gabriel took a deep breath, dispelling futile wishing. "You deserve to know before Sheppard told you."

A long silence, then. Gabriel didn't look down, meeting the eyes of each of his team.

"Where are you going, then?" Dylan, now, ever more serious than the rest, and willing to ask the difficult questions. Dark eyes refused to back down, echoing a determination carved into the faces of the men around him.

No easy answer to this. "Sheppard's team."

The chill between them intensified. No matter that he hadn't wanted it, no matter that he couldn't do anything about it; he was being bumped up from 'gate-guarding, to going off-world, and leaving his team short by one into the bargain. When they got Ford back, he would be reassigned back to them – but the trust between them would be broken by this.

Hank sucked in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He interlaced his fingers on the table, staring down at the plastic in front of his hands. He had quit smoking almost eleven years ago, but to his team, the signs all but screamed of his sudden urge for a cigarette.

Gabriel looked at Pete, then, and saw cold green eyes staring back. Though they would never admit it, he had what they had all wanted from the moment they laid eyes on that spinning naquada ring. On a purely human level, Gabriel knew what that meant. He had trouble understanding people sometimes, but he wasn't blind.

"Until they get Ford back," Dylan murmured. He sat back in his seat, then, swearing in disgust.

"We'll be one down until then?" Hank asked, never taking his gaze from the hazel-eyed man in front of him.

Gabriel shook his head tiredly. "I don't know."

"Geez," Pete finally snapped. "I don't believe this." Gabriel tensed. "I mean, he's breaking up our team to put his own back together – there's gotta be someone else!"

Gabriel blinked.

"Too right," Dylan added, staring angrily into space. "I mean, we're short on resources and manpower, I _know_ that! Hell, we're living it! But there are plenty of mismatched teams, those who've lost men and been patched back together – we know each other and can read each other's moves. Don't fix it if it ain't broken, that's how I see it."

"What I want to know is, why you?" Hank put in his two bits' worth, staring contemplatively at Gabriel.

Pete quirked a half-smile. "Yea, I mean, no offense Gabe, but . . ."

Gabriel snorted, the mask that had frozen his expression cracking for the first time. He was unable to believe that the anger his team felt wasn't directed at him; the relief was a foreign feeling, as well. But the target was less justified to be the recipient of his team's displeasure.

"Yea, Pete's got a point."

"Thanks, Dylan."

The dark man grinned at him.

Gabe grew serious once more, and felt an unaccustomed hesitation come over him. "Don't blame the Major," he said quietly. "I know why he's made this decision." Time for honesty. "In his boots, I'd probably do the same."

They stared at him.

"Why?"

He opened his mouth automatically to answer his team leader, and then his mind shrugged off the response ingrained through service in hundreds of battles. He clamped his lips shut, tried again. Sat in frustrated silence.

Sharp eyes noted the aborted motion. "Is this classified?" Hank asked quietly.

Gabe shrugged. "Honestly, I don't know." In all truth, it might have been designated as such; no one had bothered to inform him if it had, but then he had been the most reluctant to speak about the situation in the first place.

"This has something to do with all the tests Beckett was doing on you." For all he was the most lighthearted of their group, Pete's perception had never been in question. The blonde man caught the confused glances Hank and Dylan were leveling on him, and shrugged. "Hey, what's the biggest difference between us and Gabe, who's otherwise the most average guy on Atlantis? I mean, he don't exactly stick out. It would have to be pretty recent, for Sheppard not to notice it before."

Gabriel winced. "Good call, Pete," he quietly confirmed his teammates' suspicions.

Three heads turned to him in surprise. "You're kidding," was what Pete finally said.

Gabe shook his head.

"You're not," Dylan drawled slowly. "Gabe – if something's going on -"

Gabriel raised a brow, as what Dylan was implying came clear. "No," he said firmly. "I'm not being . . . forced into anything, if that's what you're thinking." The relief on three faces was plain. "It's just that -"

"You don't have to go into it, if you don't want to," Hank told him quietly, and Gabriel was thankful for the consideration. But he had made his mind up, for a bit.

"Beckett has just found out that I have a few . . . biological benefits against the wraith." They didn't need to know more; and he could tell no more without revealing enough to destroy everything he had worked to save.

They stared at him, and he could see the questions waiting to be spoken.

So hard to answer, and keep what he had built. He dropped his eyes, wanting to look anywhere but at his team.

Hank sat back. "Thank you," he said quietly.

"I -"

"We don't need to know more," Dylan's voice was firm. Gabe wrenched his gaze up in surprise.

"I want to tell you," he admitted, surprising himself. "But . . ."

Pete nodded, and Dylan threw a wry smile his way.

"It's fine," Hank told him.

Gabe nodded, grateful. He slumped a little in his seat. "What a mess," he muttered.

"Eh, not so much of a one," Pete grinned. "Hey Dyl, what d'you think Razz will do when he finds out one of our team's made a full-time 'gater?"

"Ah, Razz of the _charming_ personality," Dylan laughed. They had none of them met a more irritating individual in their careers. Luckily, he was on another 'gate shift and they saw him only rarely. For all the members of the Atlantis team had been selected for their undeniable skills, there were still personality conflicts off-duty. The one between Hank's team and Razz's was enough to drive Gabriel to distraction, and Hank to give them all scut work. "I reckon he'll have a few _polite _comments to make," was the final pronunciation.

Green eyes gleamed with mischief. "Then I'll make sure I've got something just as . . . _polite_ to say in return."

"Preemptive strikes start wars, Pete," Hank responded genially. He leant back in his seat and tucked his hands comfortably in his pockets.

"Preemptive strikes _win_ wars," retorted the man in question.

Gabriel snorted. "What school taught you that?"

"Didn'tcha hear, Gabe? Pete never went to school," Dylan told him, dodging a punch.

"Top of my class, if you must know," Pete sniffed haughtily, gaining his feet.

"In what? Class-A bullcrap?" Hank demanded, watching merrily as Dylan made to tackle Pete, and the taller man swerved out of reach.

Hank roared with laughter as Dylan, on hitting the ground, rolled and lashed out with a hand, snagging Pete's ankle and toppling him to the floor. Gabriel couldn't help the grin, but a noise at his wrist caught his attention, and he glanced down.

"What's up?"

Gabe looked up to meet Hank's concerned gaze. "Nothing much; I've got to go, though. Mission prep." He grimaced.

"Go." Hank's face was serious. "We'll hold the gate for you."

Gabriel was astonished by the magnitude of that promise. "Are you sure?"

Not even a pause, from any of them. "Yes." Unison; three voices, where there should be four.

Gabe nodded, slowly. "Alright then." He gained his feet, but turned before he was out the door, managing a smile. "Thanks."

One through the door, though, he had time to wonder over what he was feeling. Perhaps it was a sign that he had been spending too much of his time with the dregs of humanity, if such a simple thing as kindness could catch him so off-guard. He was defenseless against understanding, didn't quite know how to react when someone reached out to him. It had rarely happened. He existed to save mankind from himself and each other; his experience with those who did not need such protection was scarce.

He shook his head, wondering at his own strange thoughts. There were things to be done.

It had been two days since their last, disastrous mission. Sheppard's furor over Ford's escape had exploded when a combination of factors – McKay's unconsciousness and Weir's orders – had meant further delay in following the wayward lieutenant. The Major had memorized Ford's destination, and chafed at the delay. But there was nothing to do, but plan the next mission. So Sheppard had thrown himself into that task wholeheartedly, to the dismay of the control-room crew.

Now, two days since their first failed attempt, little would hold Sheppard back from trying again. Luckily for them all, Gabriel thought, time was tempering the Major. While responsibility to Atlantis had not yet outweighed his duty to his men, Gabriel knew that the conflict between the two would be pressing closely on him. All the more reason to find Ford, and _quickly_.

"You're late," McKay said tartly, the moment he walked through the door.

Gabriel stifled his amused smile, taking his seat instead and ignoring the jibe.

"Right," Sheppard drawled. Pale bruises under blue eyes testified to his anxiety. He slipped a folder to each of them, containing pictures from the MALP and general readouts. "This is the address that Ford dialed. Teyla, have you been here before?"

The Athosian, seated on the other side of McKay, shook her head. "My people are unfamiliar with this place," she murmured. "We would know, had we been here before."

The pictures proved her words.

The Stargate was located in the midst of ruins on this planet. The outline of a room was clear in the edges of the photograph. It had been taken in early morning light; the stone foundation was broken directly across from the Stargate by what Gabriel presumed was a door. The floor was cobbled stone, and there appeared to be more remnants of the selfsame building which housed the Stargate beyond the immediate room. Walls were still partially standing, and Gabriel peered at smears on the printout.

"Is that writing?"

McKay peered at his own picture, rifled through the file, and found an expanded print of the area that had caught the new member's attention. "Could be," he retorted. Then McKay raised a brow in his direction. "But I'm not Dr. Jackson. Ask someone else."

Gabriel bit down on a grin once more; there was much more of his great-grandfather in Rodney McKay than he had suspected.

Sheppard frowned. "Regardless. McKay, record what you can. But our primary objective is to find out if Ford is still on the planet. If so, we need to bring him back here, by whatever means necessary."

"Sir." Gabriel waited until he had Sheppard's full attention. "What is the policy on friendly fire?"

Sheppard's face closed off. "We aim to disable, Private."

Gabriel nodded. It was something the others needed to know; for himself, he would not hurt a human. But if Ford had slipped from beyond the reach of humanity, the situation changed entirely.

"One last note – the gravity on this planet is slightly heavier than both Earth and Atlantis. Be ready for it. We're scheduled for a two-day mission, check-ins every six hours. Any questions?" On the negative response, Sheppard stood, snapping his folder shut. "I'll see you at the 'gate at 0900. Dismiss."

Half an hour to gear-up. Gabriel stood, and found McKay blocking his path. He waited for the other man to move, but McKay just narrowed his eyes a moment, staring at him.

"Excuse me," Gabe finally said, when it became apparent that McKay wasn't about to yield.

Surprised, automatic courtesy took over. Gabriel was counting on it. He murmured a low, "Thanks," as he quickly slid around McKay.

Outside, Teyla was waiting. She fell into step with him as he left. He smiled at her. "Teyla Emmagen."

The return smile was slow in coming. "Gabriel Venner."

"Is something wrong?" He didn't have the time, or the inclination, to waste words.

Teyla clearly appreciated it. "You are part of our team now?"

Sheppard had explained the situation, but clearly some aspect of Earth customs was evading her; Gabriel knew Teyla to be an intelligent woman. She wouldn't ask unless she felt there was no clearer way to understand.

"Just until we get Ford back," he told her.

They left the 'gateroom, heading to individual quarters to gear up.

"This is what confuses me. We have been three before, and gone without a 'replacement'."

Ah, yes. There had been that incident with McKay, and then . . . the _other_ incident with McKay, and then . . . it was enough to make Gabriel ruefully reflect that Carl was certainly getting his worth out of Gabriel's promise, and probably laughing at him too.

"It's SOP – standard operating procedure – when someone is disabled for a long time."

The corridors were nearly empty, most members of the Atlantis team busy going about their business and morning routines.

Teyla paused, concern shining in dark eyes. "How long is Lt. Ford expected to be missing? Surely your people would not -"

Gabriel shook his head, slowing his pace. "It's not what you're thinking." He paused for a moment, trying to explain. "Ford is sick, right now, addicted to something the wraith produce. Even after we get him back, the medical procedures for making sure that he's completely detoxed – that he's no longer addicted, take time. We don't know how long that will be; I'm just filling in until he's medically cleared."

Teyla tilted her head to the side, considering him. "Your people do not accept that it is possible that we may not be able to retrieve Ford," she said wonderingly.

Gabriel shook his head firmly. "In a way, Ford is a prisoner of the wraith. He is a prisoner of his body's addiction. And we do _not_ leave our people in enemy hands."

A moment of quiet thought settled between them. "I see."

Gabriel tossed her a smile, relieved that the answering grin was so quick to return. "See you at the 'gate!"


	14. Chapter 14

"Comin' in hot!" Gabe yelled, rolling through the event horizon. He heard Hank yell to the newbie to get into position, and grinned. Scrambling to the side, he pulled himself out of the way of his old team, knowing they needed a clear line of sight and that he was blocking.

McKay had been right next to him, and the man burst through the wormhole a second behind, racing straight past them before turning to take cover along the wall, following Gabe's lead. The former 'gate-guard had positioned himself complementary to his old team, helping them out any way he could.

It was Gabriel's fifth mission with Sheppard's team, and while no less strange than the others, this one was much more perilous. They had barely gated in before they were overrun by wraith that had been mysteriously absent from the MALP pictures and scans. As a result, they had gated back out immediately. But not before catching sight of Lt. Ford once more, as they had for these past four missions, as he again evaded them and gated to another, new destination. McKay had barely gotten this one before the wormhole closed, and he had immediately dialed out, sending the IDC as soon as the event horizon stabilized.

The wraith had been mere feet from them, this time, cutting it much closer than they wanted.

Teyla appeared on the heels of that thought, and Sheppard dove through almost on top of her. Stun blasts echoed through the wormhole and exploded into the 'gateroom, just barely missing, before the iris went up. Moments later, the wormhole cut out.

Gabriel waited a few seconds, securing his position. Then he turned to see if anyone had been hit. Fortunately, this time was a near miss. Hank's newbie, a man only slightly younger than the team leader himself, had been part of the reinforcements from Earth. So far, the new men had been able to ease into the realities of life at Atlantis. At war with enemies and weapons they didn't understand, with defenses and technologies they knew only slightly better. Jeff Hopner had been trained for standard, Milky Way offworld recon. So to prep for Pegasus offworld missions, he was on 'gate duty.

Gabe looked the man over. Cool, if a little pale, but still on his feet. With Hank ragging his every step, that was no mean feat. He grinned, gave the man a nod. Unperturbed, Jeff nodded back.

Gabe looked to his new team then; McKay was nursing a few bangs and bumps, Teyla weathering a close encounter with a stun-weapon blast. Sheppard, as usual, looked irritated and unruffled by combat. "Debrief in ten," the Major ordered. He saw McKay shake his head in disgust, and was forced to agree.

For the past four – now five – missions, they had been trailing Ford, who was leading them deeper and deeper into wraith-controlled, if not completely wraith-occupied, territory. It was a strange situation. It seemed to Gabriel as if Ford waited until they arrived at his destination to leave; clearly laying a trail for them to follow, with the only difficulty standing in their way being the wraith themselves. But to what end?

The lieutenant would linger for days on the planet, close to the Stargate, evading wraith notice. They had come across one of his campsites, the contents of which disturbed the hunter in Gabriel even more. He recognized a predator when he saw one, having spent so many years being one himself.

The camp had been redolent with the stench of death. Ford had apparently slept in some brush, piled in a defensible nook at one end of his encampment. There was evidence of a fire, a latrine, and signs of him having eaten . . . something.

And there was ever more evidence of his growing addiction.

There had been six wraith bodies at this site, the number increasing from the last encampment they had found. With a sac containing the coveted enzyme in each hand, it meant that Ford was not only maintaining his addiction, but adding to it by massive amounts. His appearance had changed since they saw him last, as well – and it had only been three days.

But in that time, the olive skin had grown ashen with the addiction that raged through his body. His face was etched with a cold determination. Deep bags descended into the skin of his face from beneath his left eye, the pupil of which had expanded to impossible size. The dark iris had expanded as well, leaving his left eye a pool of blackness within his face.

They had been able to secure more of the enzyme, and Beckett had discovered exactly _why _Ford had become addicted. The effect of the enzyme was euphoric overall. It stimulated the human heart and body, strengthening the flesh, in order to prolong the wraith's meal. Gabriel had been disgusted by the information, but used the knowledge well.

Beckett had been frustrated in some of his tests by the lack of enzyme he had to work with. They had collected more samples for him today in a grisly dissection preformed by a complaining McKay. Gabriel didn't blame him. But with any luck, Beckett would be able to use what they had collected to find out more about Ford's condition. Synthesizing the enzyme at Atlantis was both too time consuming and too dangerous for Beckett to consider it a feasible option.

A few minutes later, Sheppard was debriefing Weir and Beckett with his team in attendance.

"Rodney, you have the samples for Dr. Beckett?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure. Here." Digging in his vest, the scientist produced several ampules filled with a thick, venomously yellow liquid. He distastefully passed them off to the doctor, who stored them carefully.

"I'll start to work on these immediately," Beckett told them. He hadn't slept much recently, working as hard as he could to solve this mystery, and to prepare his staff to handle Ford when they retrieved him.

"Thank you," Sheppard responded, sincerity clear in his tone.

Beckett nodded to them all, before leaving.

When the doctor had cleared the room, Weir sat forward, folding her hands on the table.

Silence stretched out as she looked at each one of them in turn. "What you've done so far," she began, "goes above and beyond the call of duty."

Sheppard sat back, warily.

"But we need to begin to consider the consequences of Ford's absence," Elizabeth continued. Lines around her eyes, and the tight press of her mouth, denied the calm she projected.

"Consequences?" Sheppard had to challenge, sensing that something was coming which he would not like.

"We need to consider the possibility that Lt. Ford will not be able to be returned to Atlantis," Weir said calmly. She didn't shy away from the truth, locking eyes with the angry Major.

"We do _not_ leave our people behind," John stated flatly. Gabriel knew his CO's record; knew that the only blemish on it was for the fault of returning to save some of his men. He wished Weir luck in convincing Sheppard to abandon Ford.

"John," Elizabeth continued. "When was the last time you heard a word from Ford's mouth?"

"Two missions ago," he returned immediately.

The team had gotten separated; Sheppard from the rest, McKay and Teyla in a second direction, and Gabriel himself, evading wraith as much as he was able, in yet a third direction. Sheppard reported, once they had been able to contact one another and return through the Stargate, that he had made contact with Ford.

The lieutenant had been different, he had said, with an anxiously frightened look. A strange mix of his old personality, which was intent on rescuing and reuniting with the rest of the team, and a crazed obsession intent only on destruction of the wraith and feeding his addiction.

"Since then, the only contact you've had with Ford has been visual. You've been unable to get close enough to sedate him -" and they had moved from physical tranquilizing to tranq guns after that first disastrous attempt "- and have only been able to watch as he traveled through the Stargate to another world. I think it is time that we faced one fact – Ford does not want to return. He knows that you are following him, that he can return if he wants to. He avoids your team, avoids contact with Atlantis, and seems intent only on feeding his addiction."

"I can't deny that Ford is avoiding us," John admitted tightly. "Or that he's obsessed with the wraith. But the addiction is what has control. Are we going to abandon him to something he can't control? Something he would fight if he was in his right mind? I am not going to abandon him to the wraith!"

"I think you need to consider," Elizabeth said quietly, "the risk and expenditure of resources that we are losing in this venture."

"Ford is worth that risk!"

"But is the entire Atlantis endeavor?"

"We're not-"

"John." She cut him off, and then continued speaking in a steely tone that brooked no protest. "It's my job to look at the facts, and to care as best I can for everyone in Atlantis, including Ford. But he is becoming a liability to us all. Every time you follow him to a planet infested with wraith, and dial out again, more of the wraith have our home Stargate address, and know where we are. I won't lie to you – the attacks on our Stargate from unidentified sources are growing more frequent. We're losing the opportunities to utilize what resources we have, here in Atlantis and in the wraith hive ships that we control in orbit. We need you and McKay here, to fully realize those options. We are gaining nothing substantial from the missions that your team is conducting, and quite frankly, we need Teyla with her people, and to negotiate for us if she is willing." Weir paused, clearly hating what she was saying, but liking it far more than the alternative. "I cannot and will no longer authorize such use of the Stargate for these missions."

Gabriel had seen this coming for quite a while, and had been slightly surprised that it had taken so long. Weir was, in many instances, right. Continuing the search for Ford was not worth the waste and risk it posed.

But she had forgotten one important fact.

"I'll be damned if we're leaving him behind," Sheppard snapped, clearly at the end of his patience. "We do _not_ leave people in enemy hands, not if we have the opportunities Ford is giving us to prevent it!"

The risk was incredibly high – the chance that all of Atlantis might suffer for their quest, should they fail to bring Ford back, was very real. But the controversy here would serve no one. If Sheppard pulled rank, ordering his men to dial the Stargate by force, the fragile balance that existed among the military and civilian members of the Earth Atlantis team would collapse. Weir would lose the power and credibility she needed to run Atlantis. Divided, they _would_ fall prey to the wraith, and at the rate they were being besieged, it would happen quickly. This needed to be solved without the two leaders in front of him destroying the delicate peace that existed.

"He's leaving us a trail."

Quiet words broke the tense silence, and had every head in the room swinging toward him.

Gabriel continued, keeping his voice low and even. "Ford. He waits, until we arrive. He dials out, making sure that we see where he's headed, before he leaves. He has close contact with us." He'd taken weapons and food off them, during the previous mission. "He _wants_ us to follow him."

"My God," McKay murmured, adding the pieces together for himself. "He's right."

"Why?" Sheppard asked, a frown creasing his brow as the argument was quickly, expertly, diffused. "Why would he do that?"

McKay spread his hands, shrugging. "Maybe it's the last pieces of the real Ford, fighting the addiction," he suggested.

"Or he is leading us further into the clutches of the wraith," Teyla pointed out darkly. "These last missions have been . . ."

"We've never encountered so many wraith," Gabriel finished grimly.

Sheppard ran a hand through his hair and laid his palms flat on the table. "The question is, what do we do about it?" Unforgiving blue eyes turned to Weir.

She sat for a moment, reading each one of them, before shaking her head. "You have two more missions," she told Sheppard firmly. "That is all." There was no give in her voice.

The Major heard it, and sighed soundlessly. "Thank you," he told her.

She nodded, her mouth a thin slash. "After that, we can do no more."

"I understand."

And they all did, Sheppard merely being the one to accept responsibility. They had a chance, however slim it was.

It was on them now, to retrieve Ford. They had a deadline, a time and resource limit that would not stretch. The facts could not be changed, and the downward spiral the lieutenant was caught in could not be altered without interference. Unless they brought him back within their next two missions, Aiden Ford was lost to the wraith.


	15. Chapter 15

Post-mission exams were over, and Gabriel was casually propping up the wall, watching Beckett. Carson worked slides and enzyme samples, a silent, concentrated focus. Very different from what Gabriel had noticed McKay's usual style to be, muttering to himself and snapping at everyone else. He was daily reminded of how like – and unlike – his great-grandfather Rodney McKay was.

Carson looked up from the scope, spotted him leaning against the wall, surveying the infirmary. "Come take a look at this."

Gabe raised a brow, but walked over to the table nonetheless. "What is it, Doc?"

"I thought you might be interested in seeing this." Beckett pulled a vial from the nearby refrigerator, and Gabriel looked over the apparatus in front of him. A petrie dish with a small amount of enzyme, a pipette, and the vial in Carson's hand.

"This is your blood."

Gabriel put an interested look on his face, though he already had an idea of what the doctor was going to try. He was curious to see if it worked – and he thought it might.

Beckett carefully withdrew a small amount of blood from the sample, sealing it immediately. Leaning carefully over the petrie dish, he measured out exactly three drops of blood.

The red liquid fell into the viciously yellow enzyme, and was swallowed up without a trace.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then, the mix of liquids began to glow, softly at first, and then the light flared brightly. It died out almost immediately, but Gabriel could see Beckett blinking away afterimages from that one contained burst of light.

"Bioluminescence," Beckett breathed, awed. "An oxidation reaction of some sort – but releasing more energy than I thought possible."

Gabriel wasn't surprised. The flesh imbued with his spirit was different for carrying such power; it altered every particle of his physical body, and the change was permanent. Even detached from his spirit, his blood would hold a small measure of that power. It was why he had risked all the retrieve the sample in the first place.

"It would probably not be a good idea to do that again," he ventured quietly.

Beckett was still blinking. "Definitely not," the doctor agreed. "The results were . ."

Gabriel nodded. "Exactly."

Beckett flashed him a wry smile, and was surprised by the understanding he received. "See you at the briefing."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"Telepathy?"

Beckett nodded.

Sheppard stared.

Weir looked between the two, and leant forward. "Dr. Beckett, would you care to explain?"

Beckett nodded, and Gabriel watched in interest as the doctor stood, sliding the copy of his report to the center of the table. Sheppard made a grab for it, but backed off as Weir reached out.

"From what I can tell, the decomposition of the wraith enzyme in Lt. Ford's body is a three step chemical process. It's not unlike the elimination of alcohol from the bloodstream; it just occurs on a much slower scale.

"The main point is that during the final step, a completely different chemical is formed, one that interacts with specific, targeted brain neurons."

"And this allows Ford to tap into the wraith's minds?" McKay was simultaneously skeptical and fascinated.

Beckett shrugged. "It's altering his brain chemistry, for sure, and the only thing I can hypothesize without examining Ford is that his brain chemistry would become much closer to Teyla's."

All eyes turned to the Athosian, who stared blankly back.

"It is possible that Teyla may be subconsciously aware of Ford," Beckett suggested gently.

The Athosian shook her head, a look of polite confusion on her face. "I am not." She was clearly baffled. "I have not opened that part of my mind."

She wouldn't off-world, on planets infested with wraith. It was the surest way to die. The risk was not significantly decreased on Atlantis, either. Teyla's talent, which they might otherwise have used, had proved itself too dangerous to risk.

The briefing proceeded quickly, yet the information was thorough and to Gabriel, the signs of caution and preparation were apparent. This was the beginning of the end for their opportunities to rescue Aiden Ford – they would get only one more.

They geared up, and waited for the Stargate to open. As he checked his weapons, Gabriel saw Razz's team posted around the 'gate. He ignored the somewhat dirty looks he got from the head of the team, though the man's professionalism was not in question.

The chillness of the event horizon shivered over his skin, and he stepped out into a new planet.

This place was steamy green, a humid jungle of tepid air and tangled vines. The noises of insects and wildlife had been blown into silence by the opening wormhole, and they entered into an unnatural calm that had Gabriel reflexively checking his weapon.

"Venner?"

Gabe frowned, and shook his head. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" McKay stared at him. Over the past few missions, the awkward distance between them had lost its hostility, but Gabriel did not dare breach the gap. Even so, the scientist had come to believe his inexplicable assessments on the number of wraith nearby, and Gabriel trusted the man's quick mind implicitly. "What about Ford?"

Gabriel tilted his head, searching within.

McKay watched in silence as the man's hazel eyes grew distant, seeing _through_ the world around them.

Gabe's head snapped to the side, eyes focusing with startling abruptness. He was with them once again. "That way," he jerked his chin to right.

"Alright," Sheppard muttered lowly. "Stay alert, weapons at the ready."

Gabe took point, with Sheppard at the rear. Moving through the jungle was a test of patience and endurance. Within minutes they were all soaked with sweat, and McKay grunted in frustration before giving in and tying a bandanna over his eyes. The noise of wildlife and insects began to return, bringing with them stinging irritation of the planet's mosquito equivalent.

The jungle they were in traversed a mountainous area, steep and even more dangerous at times. In addition, the ground was soft and loamy underfoot, rough with rocks and roots. It was rough going, and not helped any when Venner came to an abrupt halt. McKay careened into the man's back, and bounced off to hit the ground with a bang and a curse. "Venner!" snapped Sheppard.

In response, the man held up a fist, then crouched to the ground. McKay peered into the clearer path in front of them. "What's wrong?" he hissed, a little miffed. He couldn't wait to get clear of these damn tree roots and the boulders underfoot.

In answer, Venner sifted through the ground at his side. Coming up with a good-size rock, he hurled it into the clearing. It hit the ground with a hollow thump – and immediately, the forest floor gave way in a rush of falling dirt, leaves and the _shush_ing noise of grass.

Venner took a step forward, and peered over the edge of the pit. As he had thought. Sharp stakes speared up from the bottom of the hole, which was at least seven feet deep. The rest of the team cautiously came forward to look.

"Ford?" McKay asked.

Sheppard shook his head. "He hasn't been here long enough to construct something like this."

"Do we go around?" Teyla inquired, hard eyes narrowed, studying the pit and the vicious spikes thirsting for the blood of the unwary.

Sheppard shook his head. "Odds are, the woods all around here are filled with traps, for anyone who didn't get caught in this." Calculations ran through his brain, quick eyes surveying the surrounding forest.

Gabriel hefted another rock, and threw it across the pit to the ground on the other side. It thunked into dirt, but he wasn't satisfied. The pit itself was massive, eight feet wide and twelve feet long – much too far for any of them to jump. Going around was not an option. It was easy to see why Sheppard was so certain that Ford couldn't have done this.

"But then how did Ford get past?" he murmured to himself.

McKay began to look around the clearing, and the light of discovery shone in his eyes. "Look! In the trees!"

It was hard to see – McKay's finger pointing it out was the only indication to the others that something was there. But it was – a pathway through the upper branches, at times made clearer by the use of deadwood many feet up. "You've got to be kidding," Sheppard groaned lowly.

Teyla said nothing, only moving forward to grasp a vine and tug. She looped her weapon over her shoulders; as the lightest, there was no argument that she would go first. The rest of the team waited on the ground, on guard. McKay watched her progress, stifling a shout when she slipped.

Teyla dangled over empty air for only a moment, before swinging a leg over the branch and slithering gamely on. The aerial escapade was arduous and treacherous, and they traversed it slowly, with care, one at a time. It took time, but less than backtracking would have, and for the first time wraith weren't crawling all over the vicinity.

Gabriel was the last to reach the ground on the other side, and after a few careful moments, he took point once more. Surprisingly, the clearing contained no other traps, but Gabriel led them over several tripwires once they were back in the thick of the jungle.

Two hours from the gate, thirsty and hot, they came across a rest stop.

It had once been a massive building, roughly hewn into the side of a sheer cliff. Doors and windows, carved much larger than the humans needed, gaped at them from dark rock. "What lived here?" Sheppard asked, eyes wary.

"I don't think it was human," McKay muttered, eyes wide as he took in the overlarge entrances carved into the rock. "This stuff is hard – would you really hack out more than you needed?"

Gabriel moved to the first door, peering into the darkness beyond. The entrance soared a good five feet over his head, and the door was at least four feet wide. Damp, rancid air moldered just beyond.

Signaling to Sheppard, he clicked on the light over his weapon, and shone the beam inside. There was no movement, yet he could sense that Ford was nearby; most likely in the complex, somewhere. The place was bound to be a warren of tunnels stretching further into the mountain; there was no way they were going in that far. If he was following true to pattern, Ford would go to them, and the Stargate, once he realized that they had arrived.

Gabriel moved through the first, empty room. The ground was covered with dirt, though he could feel the solid stone, unbroken underneath. The leavings of some rodent or other animal were scattered across the floor. The darkness was absolute, broken only by the illumination from his flashlight, and the silence was just as eerie.

The team followed him in, slowly, scanning every corner of the rooms they walked through. Once past the main two entrance rooms, they entered into a large hallway that resembled nothing so much as a rounded tunnel in a burrow. The ceiling curved high overhead, and doors were hewn at regular intervals as far as they could see. The tunnel itself turned and twisted like the body of a snake.

And, far ahead . . .

Gabriel turned off the light from his weapon, after carefully scanning the hallway.

"Gabriel," Teyla whispered, a question in her voice.

"Turn off your lights," he returned just as quietly. "Just for a moment."

Having learned to trust the rare words they received from their taciturn teammate, the rest flicked their flashlights off. Minutes passed, in solid blackness.

"What is that?" Sheppard hissed.

Far ahead, the glow of daylight wound its way into the tunnel, alleviating the all-consuming night that encompassed the tunnels. "Probably just a vent," Gabriel murmured.

"Take McKay and check it out. Keep in radio contact. Teyla and I will head in the opposite direction," the Major ordered.

"Sir," Gabriel nodded, and squinted. "Watch out," he warned the others, before clicking his light back on. As the flashlights turned on once more, the faint glow disappeared, overpowered by artificial illumination.

"C'mon," McKay called over his shoulder to Venner, already halfway down the tunnel. Gabriel jogged to keep up, but didn't bother telling McKay that running off probably wasn't a good idea. It wasn't as if the scientist would listen. The soft footfalls of their teammates were soon swallowed up by the oppressive silence permeating the tunnel system.

It wasn't a ventilation shaft.

They had passed a bend in the tunnel, and the light was both much brighter and farther than he had thought. They no longer needed their flashlights to see, and Venner snapped his off, giving his eyes a moment more to adjust before continuing forward. They reached the source after yet another bend in the tunnel, and the scientist started forward eagerly. Gabriel held McKay back with a hand on his arm and a stern look, before walking into the doorway from which the light was coming.

He checked it out carefully before calling quietly back, "Secure."

McKay entered, and stopped dead at the sight before him.

The doorway opened up into a magnificent cavern, formed naturally within the mountain. Stalagmites reared up proudly from the floor, some of which were connected to stalactites that dripped down to meet them. In the solid blankness of functional rock comprising the outer rooms and tunnels, this place was a sea of color. Browns and reds, glittering flashes of mica, minerals in hues of yellow and blue, were a feast for the eyes, draping the entire room in brilliant, joyful hues. "Wow," McKay breathed.

Gabriel was moving through and around the naturally formed columns of rock, careful to touch nothing. He was taken aback by the beauty before him, and a sense of peace filled him, despite his wariness. He moved deeper into the room, drawn farther into the depths of the cavern. Something was pulling at him.

At the side of his consciousness was McKay, gazing around in awe as he conversed with Sheppard, convincing the Major that he had to find their position, and see this. It was unbelievable.

But when he found what he hadn't even known he was searching for, all thought of the team slipped from his mind.


	16. Chapter 16

Sunlight filtered down from somewhere above, setting the walls and floor alight with color.

"This is amazing," Teyla murmured, staring in awe around the cavern.

Sheppard stared around with assessing eyes. "Cool."

"Isn't it?" McKay was almost vibrating with excitement. "What's more, I'm getting some interesting energy readings . . . ."

"What do you think it was used for?"

Teyla shrugged. "We are unfamiliar with any people so large as these must be." She indicated the doorway. "Nor have I ever been to such a planet as this before."

"It's defensible," Sheppard commented. "One entrance."

"That we can see," McKay pointed out. "This place is immense. I can't see to the other end – and these formations may block parts of the room from sight."

"True," Teyla agreed.

But Sheppard was searching through the room. "Where's Venner?"

"He was right -" McKay turned, and saw only stalagmites. "That's funny."

"Funny? A member of my team is missing."

"Two, actually."

"McKay!"

"I suggest we split up and search for Gabriel," Teyla broke in, heading off the impending argument.

Sheppard sighed, aggravated. "Stay in visual contact at all times."

The three broke off, weaving through the stalagmites in different directions. For all the huge size of the room, they often caught sight of one another among the rock formations, and there was no interference with the signals from their radios.

They carefully swept the room, realizing as they continued that the room was narrowing, channeling them toward the wall opposite the entrance.

Stalagmites and stalactites plunged from floor and ceiling all around them, casting shadows that loomed and wavered. Surprisingly, the ground grew smoother and less difficult to tread the farther they went, something that Sheppard was grateful for as her realized that in their sweeps of the room, they were not traveling as far as they had been. They were being funneled away from the entrance; but toward what?

It was McKay who found the SF.

He rounded a corner, and saw the man's back as he faced a wall of rock. The room dead-ended in a cul-de-sac that looked as if someone had scooped the rock out of the cavern from the side, forming a smooth bowl-shaped surface. It was here that the light, increasing with every step, was concentrated. The ground in front of this smooth, curved wall, was flat, forming a circle bordered perfectly by the wall in front of them, and stalagmites behind them.

The colors on the rock face rippled gently into one another, punctuated by glittering ores and limned with veins of minerals winding through the rock face.

If he ventured to touch it, McKay was sure that the surface would be polished smooth.

But it wasn't the smoothness, nor the staggering size of the curved wall that caught his attention. Rather, the figure standing in front of the massive wall, staring upward into a towering darkness of cathedral silence, was the end focus of his attention.

Wary and unable to see Venner's face, he made no sound, peering around a concealing stalagmite, and watching.

Venner pulled off his P-90 and set it down on the floor. McKay frowned.

There was a pool of light spilling down from some hidden window, high above Venner moved away from the light and to the side, staring intently at the wall. He took a small step, just brushing the circle of sunshine, and then another. For many long moments his attention was fixed wholly on the wall, as he edged around the glowing ring of light.

McKay shifted his weight, and Venner's head whirled, as if he had heard some sound. Glowing hazel eyes – from the reflected light, McKay assured himself – fixed on him.

He squeaked. Stood, awkwardly, and coughed. "Private."

The P-90 was in his hands again, though he didn't remember seeing the soldier grab for the gun.

Venner quirked a brow in that odd manner of his, and if McKay didn't know better, thought he saw the man suppress a smile. Instead, Venner only sighed, lowly.

"Dr. McKay?"

"We've been searching for you," McKay snapped, somewhat irritated. He gripped his mike, speaking into it.

"Where are you?" Sheppard demanded once he'd announced that he'd found their wayward teammate.

"We'll meet you back at the entrance," Venner spoke up for the first time, reaching for his own radio.

Anger was palpable in Sheppard's voice. "This isn't over, Private."

"Sir."

Only acknowledgement in the tone; no defiance or agreement – nothing. McKay shook his head. Private Gabriel Venner annoyed him. The man seemed to have no personality – he was as blank and unreadable as the stone around them. There were hints of humor, and he seemed devoted to Atlantis, but other than his uncomplaining, supportive assistance in finding Ford, McKay had learned nothing of him.

And that made the scientist uneasy.

He could accept that there was something a little different, a little _off_, about the man. Something that, apparently, made him able to detect the wraith on a level that Teyla, who was genetically linked to them, could not. But he could not accept the lack of an explanation for such a phenomenon. He was not a doctor, but as a scientist, he knew that there must be an answer. He had been determined, for quite awhile now, to find it.

It was the blankness in the man that unnerved him the most, however. He had been on several missions with Venner, but knew as little of him now as he did at the beginning. The man was taciturn and rarely spoke, making it all the more important to heed him when he did, for it seemed he didn't waste words. His skills as a soldier were undeniable, but he kept himself apart from the team. Perhaps because he fully expected Ford to return and replace him. At this point, however, McKay was starting to doubt that.

It was clear that Sheppard also knew little about the man, though he obviously knew more than McKay. He was constantly looking to the other, searching for . . . something. But he had to know more. Rodney was convinced that whatever Sheppard wasn't telling them was the root behind why he had chosen Gabriel Venner in particular as Ford's temporary replacement.

Strangely enough, it was Teyla who knew the most about Venner. Some aspects of their personalities struck McKay as similar. The strange way of twisting some phrases, the care in choosing words. Formidable as warriors, yet both maintained a slight distance from others. In Teyla, McKAy recognized it as necessary to be both leader of her people, and a subordinate to Sheppard; it was a delicate balance of responsibility that required both service and independence. But in Venner, he couldn't understand it.

His thoughts lingering on the puzzle of a man who followed him back through the maze of rock formations. Reaching their starting point, he found Sheppard and Teyla already there.

"Venner. What the hell did you think you were doing?"

The private didn't even turn a hair at the immediate, scathing rebuke. "I thought I felt something," he answered. "It turned out to be nothing."

"And you couldn't answer the radio checks for what reason?"

"It escaped my attention," Venner admitted. "Sir."

A lie. McKay was damned if he knew _why_ he thought so. Perhaps it had something to do with the soldier's strange behavior, which he had clandestinely observed. Perhaps it was the way the man stared over Sheppard's shoulder, not meeting his eyes. Whatever it was, McKay was almost certain he was lying.

Looking at Sheppard's narrowed blue eyes, Rodney realized with a start that the Major suspected the same thing. But why didn't he do anything?

"Any sign of Ford?" he asked instead.

Venner shook his head. "He's somewhere in the complex." He locked gazes with Sheppard once more, speaking honestly. "I can't pin down where. It's likely to be a maze further inside."

Sheppard nodded, once. Then he looked to the others. "What do you think?"

Teyla shook her head. "It would be unwise to tread further if we have no secure means to return."

McKay shrugged.

Sheppard glanced over all of them again, and came to a decision. "Right. Let's move back to the outer rooms of this maze. We'll wait for Ford to come out, and see if we can't grab him then."

The wait was long, and McKay was bored. They had camped out in the shelter offered by one of the outer rooms. McKay would much rather have been exploring the vast complex, but Sheppard had found that there was only one external entrance on this face of the rock, and so they were guarding it. Eventually, Ford would have to come here.

In the meantime, he had studied the energy readings in the cavern, collected a few botanical samples, and run out of anything else to do.

"So, Venner. Where are you from?"

The man gave him a blank look. McKay flattered himself into thinking that he'd surprised the man, but knew he'd be lucky if the other didn't consider him insane.

"Earth," Gabriel answered baldly.

"Oh, no really?" McKay snarled, a little put off by the joke but willing to go with it. A fight was better than sitting here in silence.

"Michigan," the other amended, a little smile on his face.

McKay was irritated by the easy response. Venner baited him, and then ruined his chances for a good argument. But he didn't know anything about Michigan, so he changed tactics. And the subject, but that was incidental.

But Sheppard was there first, making it a double-fronted attack. "What about family?"

"A little brother. And an uncle and cousin." Gabriel shrugged. "And you?"

Sheppard shook his head. "Only child."

Hazel eyes turned to McKay. "A sister," he admitted. "We're . . . not close." How had this interrogation turned around? "And a cat."

Sheppard shook his head. "Dogs," he affirmed. "Venner?"

"Black Lab," the other agreed. Remembered joy slipped through hazel eyes.

McKay shook his head. It had been so quick, it might have been just his imagination. Still . . . "You military types are all alike."

"Hey!" Sheppard was offended, sitting up straight against smoothed stone. "I had a cat once."

"Yeah?" Polite disbelief in the scientist's face.

"Once. It brought me a dead mouse."

"That's what cats do," McKay felt duty-bound to point out.

"I was in bed, asleep, at the time!"

McKay couldn't seem to find words to that, for a moment at least. He fiddled with his pack a moment, searching for an appropriate rejoinder. "Well, that's still what cats do."

Sheppard snorted, eloquently.

Gabriel shook his head, a rare smile pulling at his lips.

Teyla chose that moment to return, breaking the conversation, such as it was, into shards of silence.

Waiting until she had settled, Gabriel stood, stretching, and shouldered his P-90. Sheppard stared at him. "Where do you think you're going?"

An even golden stare met his eyes, unnerving in its intensity. "I'm going back to the cavern," Venner answered mildly.

"Like hell you are."

Teyla's eyes widened at the anger there. McKay stared. This was what it had been building up to, then. The two men clashed at every opportunity, but never in the field. Venner backed down off-world, toning it down until all that was perceived of his presence was a shadow. Why challenge Sheppard now?

Gabriel quirked a brow up, the expression on his face unchanging as he stared evenly back into suspicious blue eyes.

Then . . . he was staring _through_ Sheppard, the Major erased from his sight as something else took hold of his senses. Sheppard shook away the sensation that Gabriel had lost hold of his presence.

Just in time, the strange, ancient distance faded from hazel eyes, and Venner focused in on him once more. "Sir. I am going to the cavern again." _Try and stop me. _

Gabriel took a step to the side, stepping past. The Major grabbed his arm. "Venner. What the hell are you doing?" A harsh demand, helpless to stop him short of violence, yet needing to understand in the same way they all had, from the beginning. A pleaded order; Sheppard seemed unaware of his own actions, focused in on the other.

Gabriel looked for a long moment as if he wouldn't answer, lips a tight line. Then something seemed to shift in his eyes, and he glanced back at all of them.

McKay shivered at that gaze.

It was as if something had changed within him, altering how he saw them all. But why would that matter? What was truly going on here?

"There's something there," Venner quietly confessed. "Not Ford, but – I can feel it."

Coming from anyone else, the words would have meant nothing. McKay had heard something of this ilk from the man's lips before, however. It had him standing, checking his gun, even as Teyla wrapped slender fingers around her own weapons.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Sheppard demanded, loosing his grip on the other man in favor of cool, semi-automatic steel.

Gabriel looked at them all, weapons at hand, and shook his head ruefully. "It's not like that," he remarked.

"Stop being so vague and tell us what it is, then," McKay snapped. His patience had run out with all this doddering around.

Gabriel sighed, ducking out the door.

Sheppard rolled his eyes, muttering threatening imprecations under his breath. "You know, Venner," he snapped out to the man striding ahead. "If you weren't so damn useful, I'd have your ass locked away on Atlantis for the duration."

"Sir." And a sound that might have been a chuckle.

McKay huffed in exasperation. The man was impossible – irritatingly mysterious and at times strangely paternal, for all he could be no more than thirty-one. Oddly commanding and in-control for an enlisted man without discernable achievement or rank; but that was more than likely due to the way Venner bucked the system. And he had thought Sheppard was a wild card.

But still – they were following him. There was no _why_; by all rights, McKay had no idea how he had been persuaded to follow a man he was, half the time, absolutely certain had lost his mind. "This is insane," he muttered.

They reached the cavern without incident, and McKay was not surprised in the slightest to see Venner leading them back to the place where the scientist had found the wandering SF.

It was later in the day, now, and the pool of light which had been dripping directly in from above was now angled, hitting the rock and stone and bouncing crazily off, reflected and redirected within this circular area.

Venner pulled up short on seeing it, holding one hand up. They stopped behind him.

"What is it?" Sheppard demanded immediately.

Venner looked carefully to each side. "Ford isn't here."

Tension went out of the entire team.

"Well, now what?" McKay needed to know.

Venner studied the strange light, nodding to himself in satisfaction. "We wait."

"We wait?" Sheppard protested, half-snarling. "What exactly is going on, Venner?"

"More than likely, you'll see." Vague disgust and dissatisfaction in that tone; an irritated resignation which very clearly stated that Venner would prefer they didn't.

"What are you hiding?" Sheppard asked lowly, something in the myriad of emotions in the other's impassive statement pulling him to inquire.

Golden eyes met azure; _something_ sizzled in the air around them. McKay tasted power, fear, helplessness, and . . . hope?

"Are you sure you want to know?"

McKay, for once in his life, wasn't.

But they had time to ponder the question, as the strange SF looked at his watch and gazed at the falling light. And waited.

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Sorry for the delay on this; I truly meant to have it out much sooner, but ended up rewriting it three times, before going back to the original draft. It was a bit tough, since I knew where I wanted to go, but not how to get there . . . anyway, expect the next chapter sooner!


	17. Chapter 17

But nothing seemed to happen, not for many moments. Sheppard leant, not quite on guard and not quite relaxed, against a rock formation. Thoughts whirled in his gaze, which drifted from Venner to the circular rock formations and back again.

Teyla crouched off to the side, taking everything in silently.

McKay was watching the sunlight slip across the floor and onto the wall, as the day grew older. It was slow, and he found himself mesmerized, staring into space, lost in thoughts that he couldn't remember. He blinked, yanking himself from pointless musings.

Venner, for his part, was motionless. His avid intentness of moments before had not faded, but had transformed into stillness. He leant on a stalagmite opposite the wall, and glanced frequently at his watch. It was when he stood straighter, pushing off the rock, that he caught McKay's attention.

The sun had peaked long ago and was descending toward the horizon. Light from the ceiling angled down in sunset hues, and in seconds had drifted from the floor onto the wall.

McKay shielded his eyes from the bright flare, blinking spots from his vision. To his right Sheppard swore and he was vaguely able to make out Teyla, her face turned away. He looked for Venner, and stopped dead.

The scientist was transfixed, and the words he next heard might have come from any one of them.

"It's writing."

It was what Venner hadn't wanted them to see. It was unlike anything McKay had ever known, and it whispered in his soul.

Impermanent and indecipherable, the strange script was written in the play of light and shadow etched onto rock. Curved and twisted, he couldn't tell if he was looking at letters or characters; it seemed to flow and weave before his eyes with a life of its own.

It was a marvelous feat of engineering, startling and provoking more questions than answers. To his chagrin, McKay realized that there was no real way to copy this writing for later perusal. They had no camera sensitive enough to record the stark contrast of light which gave birth to this script, and making a rubbing would be a pointless exercise.

McKay pulled his eyes from the strange words, flowing and intense, and squinted toward the ceiling, a hundred or more feet above. Whether it was the distance or the sun, he could make out nothing to define the edges of the hole he knew must be there.

"It is beautiful."

"Yes," Sheppard quietly agreed with Athosian.

"It is truly amazing, is it not?" Teyla directed her words to Gabriel, staring up in wonder.

Venner didn't answer, eyes devouring the script in front of them.

"I can't quite make out how it's formed," McKay admitted, peering determinedly upwards. Maybe, if he turned his head on the side, he could . . . "I believe it must be some sort of reverse lattice-work carving superimposed over a hole in the ceiling," he continued. He pulled out a voltmeter, and reached for the far end of the curved wall.

"Ouch!"

Sheppard jerked toward the string of invective being loosed by the scientist. "McKay?"

"It's hot," the scientist swore, shaking his fingers out. His motions slowed as he took a good look at the meter in his hand. "It's charged."

Teyla's attention was swallowed by these events, but once assured that the scientist sported only a red mark on his fingers, she turned to see how Gabriel had reacted.

He hadn't noticed the slight incident at all. Teyla stared at his face, his attention fixed on the wall, and glanced at the others. McKay came over, still shaking his hand.

"Venner?"

"What?" Distraction, preoccupation as his eyes continued to rove the wall in front of them. But there was purpose in the golden gaze.

"You can read it." McKay was certain.

"Yes."

A stark, noncommittal answer. Sheppard frowned, and an expression of puzzled irritation took up residence on McKay's face. Venner took no notice, utterly absorbed by the writing.

"How?"

There was no answer to Sheppard's question; Venner simply finished reading, ignoring the tense silence. A soft sigh indicated that he had finished.

Golden eyes turned to the Major then. "I'm sorry. Did you say something?" Teyla smiled a little, anticipating the coming explosion, and moved toward the wall.

Sheppard's face tightened. "Yes," he hissed, stepping forward. "You read that writing. What is it? What does it say?"

"It doesn't have a name," Venner responded evenly, unperturbed by the harsh interrogation. He frowned a little, eyes flickering over the words once more, very quickly.

McKay rolled his eyes. "What, you're a linguist and a soldier?" he snorted in disbelief. Teyla turned to look at the wall once more, putting the argument to her back.

"It's a hobby," Gabriel responded, distracted. "No, wait, don't!" he called out as the Athosian reached a hand toward the writing.

"Reading languages that don't have names is a hobby," McKay scoffed. "And I'm Marilyn Monroe."

Blue eyes, dark with mischief, fixed on him.

"It's an expression," McKay added hastily, cutting Sheppard off. The Major tried to keep the thwarted look off his face, and didn't quite manage it.

A sharp cry pulled their attention from the momentary banter. Heads shot around, to see Teyla rear back from the wall as if burned. McKay trotted over. "Didn't I tell you not to touch -"

Teyla's hand hadn't been shocked, as his was. Wincing in pain, she showed him her palm – the skin was blistered and seared.

"How did that happen?" Sheppard demanded. Prompted by a sharp glare, Venner followed him.

Gritting her teeth, Teyla answered in low tones, "I touched the wall, Dr. McKay."

Sheppard gave the wall, barely a foot away, a considering glare.

McKay shook his head, pulling a salve from the first-aid kit sequestered in his pack. "That's not possible. I measured the current running through the rock." Dubious as he obviously felt about such a statement, he was confident as he removed alcohol, bandages and swabs from the plastic container. "It's not high enough to cause first-degree burns," he indicated the blisters on Teyla's palm.

"Then how did this happen?" Sheppard objected.

McKay looked at him blankly.

Sheppard shook his head. "All right," he muttered, making a decision. "Time to get back out there and find what we came for."

Waiting until McKay finished patching Teyla up, Sheppard turned to find Venner closely examining the wall. Under his watchful eye, Venner made no move to get within more than a foot of the wall. "Move out," he ordered, seeing McKay packing up the med kit. Sheppard looked hard at Venner. "This isn't over."

They watched as the light went down, the writing fading. Venner was the last to leave, casting a glance back at the wall to make sure that no one else noticed the glowing, golden handprint, left behind on the rock.

As they left the room, however, Venner seemed to come alive once more. "Ford," he hissed, voice carrying just as far as their ears, and no further.

"Where?" Sheppard whispered back.

Venner tilted his head, frowning. Hazel eyes widened in realization. "He's waiting for us."

They entered their camp, in the exterior room of the tunnel system, with caution. Despite his lack of open hostility towards them, it was very obvious that Ford was dangerous.

The lieutenant was sitting against the wall of the cavern. His weapon was pointed out the door, but his eyes were on the tunnel entrance. On them.

"Ford," said Sheppard. His hands were not on his weapon, but hovered, ready to grab the P-90 should the man turn on them.

"Major," Ford said, standing and saluting.

Teyla and McKay moved forward to flank Sheppard, and Gabriel hung back. If they had a chance to try to convince Ford to come with them willingly, he wanted to let Ford's old team have that chance. It would be a hell of a lot easier than hauling an unwilling man back through the jungle – and its arboreal path – to the 'gate.

"Lieutenant," Sheppard responded. He stepped forward, and then crouched not far from Ford. Taking that as a signal to relax, somewhat, Teyla sat as well, weapons within easy reach. McKay leant against the wall, but Gabriel stayed lingering in the shadows from the doorway, almost out of sight.

"Tell your fourth to come out here," Ford told Sheppard, almost bored.

"Venner," the Major snapped, not taking his eyes from the man in front of him.

Gabriel stepped into the faint light, getting his first good look at the man who had been running from them for weeks. Ford was thin, but his posture and body radiated an unnatural energy. He was being fueled by the drug, but it was taking its toll. The pupils of both eyes had exploded into darkness, consuming the other man's gaze with darkness. The eerie stare he turned on his former teammates was unnerving, to say the least. Deep bags carved their ways down his cheeks from under each eye, giving lie to the idea that Ford might be caught unawares in sleep. It seemed that rest was a luxury the lieutenant no longer indulged in.

Dusky skin was flushed on his hands and arms, yet his face was ashen. He sat in a controlled crouch, back to the wall, eyes resting on each of them in turn. When the strange gaze locked on to him, Gabriel met the other man's even stare with one of his own. For a long moment, they were frozen like that, until Sheppard spoke. "You've been leading us on a wild-goose chase for almost a month, Ford. When are you going to come back to Atlantis?"

"I was looking for the answer," Ford told them, seemingly not answering the question.

"Did you find it?" McKay probed.

"No, I didn't," Ford answered, looking the scientist over carefully. McKay couldn't hide his shiver. "But someone else did."

"Why have you been leading us to planets where the wraith abound?" Teyla asked carefully.

Ford shrugged. "I thought the answer might be on a few of them. As for the rest – well, I've gotta eat."

The words sent a chill through them all.

"Besides," he added, "I'm just here to see that you get back alright."

Sheppard frowned, dismissing his earlier comment for a moment. "Why should you care?"

Ford's head jerked upright, something like anger burning in the depths of his eyes. "It's my _duty_, sir. After all, you're only here because of me. And the wraith are coming, make no mistake about that. to destroy them, we must unite."

"Are you coming back to Atlantis with us, then?" McKay pressed gently.

Ford shook his head. "Atlantis cannot accept what I am," he declared, somewhat arrogantly.

"And what are you?" Gabriel asked, speaking for the first time. He hadn't left his position near the wall, and of the four members of the team, he hadn't taken his hands from his weapon, not even in a farce of trust.

Ford's head shot up. "Not even _you_ can understand," he snarled.

"Try me."

"I am their destruction!" Ford proclaimed. "I am the ruin of the wraith, the only thing that hunts them."

"You're wrong," Gabriel told him gently.

Sheppard was glaring at him; if they pushed Ford too hard, it was likely he would run off and leave them, and they would never find him again. "Private," Sheppard warned.

"No, let him talk," Ford challenged, surging to his feet. He took a step toward the other man, but Gabriel didn't flinch from his burning gaze. "What do you think I am?"

"I think," Gabriel said quietly, "that you are their victim, more than any of us could ever be."

Ford snorted, loudly, and turned on his heel, ignoring the other man. "I'm going back to the 'gate. Follow me, and I can show you the best way to get there, before we part ways for the last time."

"I won't let you do that," Sheppard warned the other man quietly.

In the doorway, framed by the emerging twilight of this planet, Ford smirked at his former CO. "I know. Try and stop me."

Sheppard followed Ford out the door, grabbing his pack and moving quickly. Snatching their packs and belongings as quickly as possible, the others followed. Venner took up the rear, wondering where the trap was in all this.

It didn't come during the roundabout journey back to the 'gate, though he expected it. No snares or pitfalls appeared in the jungle path they traversed. Local wildlife and fauna kept clear of them, and there was not even a sign of foul weather. Still, the tingling that signified danger loomed in Gabriel's senses.

It wasn't until they reached the 'gate, however, that the threat manifested. Crouching in foliage bordering the clearing which housed the gate, Venner pulled them all up, including Ford, with a hissed warning. "Wraith!"

The 'gate was dialed up, blue event horizon illuminating the darkened clearing. On the heels of his warning, two wraith stepped through, onto the surface of the planet. They were followed by two more, and then another two, and another, before the 'gate shut down.

Sheppard grabbed Ford's arm, as the man silently strained toward his prey. "Wait," he breathed in the addict's ear. "If we plan, we can get them all."

Ford seemed to listen; Sheppard loosed his grip.

With a jerk and a howled leap, everything went to hell. Ford raced out into the clearing with shocking speed, moving with a strength and economy of movement that was clearly inhuman.

"Fire!" Sheppard shouted.

They were discovered; there was no way out. Bullets screamed through the air, opposed by blue stun blasts that ripped holes in the concealing leaves. Two wraith were down already by Ford's hand; down and not moving. For his part, Gabriel had never seen anyone permanently kill a wraith so quickly. Three more were sprawled in the clearing, healing only to be felled by bullets once more each time they rose.

"McKay! Get to the 'gate!" the Major hollered.

Dodging stun blasts, the scientist broke cover and sprinted across the deadly clearing, headed for the DHD. It was a race against time. Ford was momentarily preoccupied with slicing apart the hands of the wraith, heedless of the fire exploding from both sides all around him.

Gabriel moved forward, covering McKay. Slamming his hand on the symbols, the scientist dialed out to Atlantis before hurling himself to the ground behind the DHD. Moments of frenetic fire passed, the noise deafening. "IDC sent!" he yelled back.

"McKay! Get through!" Sheppard ordered, voice carrying over the noise of bullets and stun bolts. "We'll get Ford!"

The scientist nodded, running forward. Gabriel saw him throw himself through the gate before the three remaining team members advanced on Ford. He had left the dead wraith, and turned to butcher the ones who had been freshly killed by the bullets. But on seeing the Atlantis team converging on him from three angles, he had only two choices. Run through the 'gate, or head toward the remaining wraith.

Firing relentlessly in the direction of the stun blasts, Gabriel saw the decision made, shining clearly in his eyes. They were going to lose him.

Sheppard shouted, then. "Ford!"

Distracted, the lieutenant jerked toward his name – and a stun blast hit him from behind. He fell into the path of a second on his way to the ground, and lay still. Sheppard darted forward, letting Venner and Teyla clear a path to the 'gate as he shouldered up the fallen man.

Bearing Ford's weight easily, he ran through the 'gate.

Dodging a stun blast, Teyla retreated through the event horizon, calling for the last member of their team. "Gabriel!"

Glancing her way, the SF launched himself into the event horizon.

And came up on the other side, rolling to his feet and weapon at the ready. The iris slammed into place – letting a last stun bolt slam through the event horizon, into the 'gateroom, hitting Venner in the chest.

Gabriel was pushed back a step, but remained on his feet. Seeing the danger was over, he let his weapon hang by the strap, and turned.

"Biological benefits, huh?" Hank asked him. The 'gate crew came forward to greet him, surprise on their faces.

Sheppard stepped forward, eyes on the SF. He'd deposited Ford on the floor, and Beckett had arrived in less than a minute. The medical team had Ford restrained, and were working on him. "Venner," the Major said quietly, his voice hard. "You owe us some answers."

"Not now."

Surprised at being interrupted, Sheppard's head jerked around. Standing nearby, curious eyes taking the scene in, was the head of Atlantis. Weir looked between the two men. "It'll wait," she said quietly, directing their attention to where Beckett was anxiously examining Ford. "We have other concerns right now."


	18. Chapter 18

Gabriel sat down, the first to arrive in the briefing room.

A week had passed since his last mission with Sheppard's team. Ford had been brought back, and was now slowly recovering in Beckett's care.

He had much to think about.

Gabriel didn't know for sure what Ford had been seeking, or how he had known where to go, in search of it; but he had his suspicions. Regardless, he had no doubt that he would have been brought to that planet sooner or later, to read what had been left for him.

All of his questions had been answered. Why the people at Atlantis seemed just so slightly _different_ from most mortals of his acquaintance. Why he had encountered people who had been just as similarly different through his travels on Earth – those few who saw through the concealments he used, with a glimmer of understanding nestled in their souls. Now that he knew, everything made sense.

It was written into their very flesh.

It was the mark bestowed on the eldest son of Adam, and his descendants, ages ago.

The Ancient gene.

The Ancients were a people different from those on Earth, their knowledge holding them apart. It was not that they were more advanced; no, the difference was a thing of subtle signals, found in the age of their spirits.

Gabriel shook his head, wondering.

He had known that Cain's children had dispersed across the Earth, forever changed by the mark laid upon them. But they had grown too numerous for him to follow, and he had lost all knowledge of them millennia ago.

And the Mark, like his memories, had slipped to the back of his mind, waiting to be remembered.

When he had first seen the writing on the cavern wall, he had lost the veneer of humanity, for only a moment. He had not been taught to read the script, had not known that the language with which he was most familiar could even be written. It was fitting, therefore, that it could only be created by an intermingling of light and shadow.

Then he had looked past _what_ it was, to see what it was saying. And he had found the history of the Ancients, and the descendants of Cain, laid out before him.

It meant everything.

It meant that, perhaps, they had grown enough to accept the truth.

He did not brace himself as they entered, nor did he take a deep breath, or need to calm himself in any way. The decision had been made long before he had ever come to this galaxy; he had neither doubt nor confidence, for there was no need for any such feeling. It simply _was_.

Sheppard sat down, eyeing the man sitting only two seats away. There was something different about him; there had been since they had discovered the strange script. He could see that McKay shared his unease about their teammate when the scientist entered, putting the Major between himself and the SF. Teyla seemed exasperated by the tension, sitting on Sheppard's other side.

When Weir entered, precisely punctual as was her habit, the briefing finally began.

Sheppard was able to relate the events of their journey up until the discovery of the writing, and Venner's strange behavior, before the questions became probing. No answers were forthcoming from the SF, who looked as if he was focused elsewhere, and giving the briefing itself the bare minimum of his attention.

The man's eyes turned to him as he finished his sentence. "Venner," he snapped, not allowing himself to be unnerved by the cool golden gaze. "Why do I get the feeling that you're not interested in this briefing?"

The man merely raised a brow at him.

Weir intervened. "Dr. McKay," she turned her attention to the scientist. "This writing that the team came across?"

Recognizing the prompt, Rodney leant forward. "It was formed from the contrast of light and shadow," he began. "I believe that it was formed by the inhabitants of the cave tunnel-system."

Before he could go on, Weir fixed intent eyes on him. "Have you seen anything like this language before?"

Rodney could only shake his head. "We should have a linguist return and study it," he admitted. "I may be good, but my field of expertise is not languages. We'd need someone from Dr. Jackson's team for that." The SGC's head linguist, denied the chance to go to Atlantis, had had a personal hand in picking the members of his staff skilled enough to qualify. But while these individuals had knowledge of languages, they had been chosen primarily for a wide range of other applicable skills. While everyone in Atlantis had undergone training in the language of the Ancients, McKay knew for a fact that it wouldn't help in this case.

"But you could read it, Private Venner," Weir turned her attention to the quietest man in the room.

"Yes," he answered baldly, unreadable as ever.

"What did it say?" Weir demanded.

"It gave the answers to several questions," Venner evaded smoothly.

Sheppard's eyes narrowed. "What I would be much more interested in knowing," he gritted out, "was _how_ you could read it."

"You told us it was a hobby," Teyla pointed out.

"I don't buy that," Sheppard decided. "Reading other languages is a hobby?" He shook his head. "As is your skill with computers, and music?"

The SF was silent, but there appeared to be a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. "People are not one-dimensional," he pointed out mildly.

"And your unusual skill at killing the wraith?" McKay interjected acerbically. "Another _hobby_?"

"I don't know what you are," Sheppard said firmly. "But it's not what you want us to think."

"And what's that?" Gabriel was curious as to how much the man had put together.

"Human."

Weir started at the word, and McKay jumped. Teyla turned surprised eyes on each of the men in turn. Sheppard's attention was fixed on Gabriel, who had gone very still.

"Major?" Weir's voice said, _Explain_.

"I think that an Earth-based foothold situation got by the SGC, and managed to follow us to Pegasus," Sheppard answered tightly.

"What is your evidence for this?" Weir asked quietly. All eyes in the room were on Gabriel, and Sheppard's hand rested comfortably on the gun holstered at his side. "You don't show up on wraith life-sign scanners," he directed his words at Venner. "Or Ancient scanners; the puddlejumpers show nothing. You're completely unaffected by wraith stun weapons. I _saw_ the wounds on you, after the wraith took over Atlantis. There was no way anyone could survive that." The implication was clear, but Sheppard wasn't done yet. "Those wraith were killed, and the wraith on the hive ships. No virus, or weapon I know of, can cause that. You can sense the wraith coming!"

Weir's face hardened, as she saw more pieces of the pattern and began to realize that it could not all be accident, or coincidence. "Who are you?" she demanded, standing.

Sheppard had his pistol in his hand, thought it was not yet pointed at the seated man. McKay was out of his seat and backing toward the others; Teyla was standing, but had not drawn a weapon.

Gabriel kept his hands in sight. "You are partially right," he responded evenly. He ignored the weapons centering on him, the noises of shocked dismay. "But whatever you think now, I have not and will not hurt anyone here."

"Really?" Sheppard was not convinced.

Teyla spoke up. "He has not harmed anyone," she reasoned aloud. "The wraith are his enemy, as they are ours. Perhaps he should be given the chance to explain."

Sheppard thought that over; but his grip on the weapon did not change. "Teyla's right," he said quietly, after a long, tense moment. "And I want to know what the hell's really going on here."

Gabriel looked at them carefully. "I believe it would be easier to show you," he answered the other man.

Sheppard's eyes narrowed.

""I give you my word that no one will be harmed," Gabriel promised. "But I need you to trust me."

He gave no reasons why; after working with the individuals in this room closely for weeks, he had faith in what he knew of them. He believed they would want to see, before judging. They had put together more than he had expected; and now, they needed to know.

He patiently bore the scrutiny leveled on him, but ultimately, it was Weir and Sheppard's decision.

The Major put the safety back on his gun with the flick of a finger. Weir nodded.

Slowly, Gabriel stood, and walked to the door.

As he reached to open it, Weir's voice sounded behind him. "Where are we going?"

Gabriel glanced over his shoulder. "The Infirmary," he answered lowly.

Tense silence wove between them as they traversed the corridors, lengthening the trip. When they reached the realm of the medics, a weary Beckett came forward to meet them.

"Gabe," he greeted the man. Then, the formation in which the remainder of the team had taken around him became clear. "What's going on?"

Gabriel shook his head, allaying the wariness in blue eyes. "How's Ford?" he asked instead.

Eyeing Weir, and Sheppard's team, Carson answered slowly, "He's nae doing well. He's crashed twice since he arrived, after we got him stabilized. He's so dependant on the wraith serum that even givin' him what we've got isnae going to relieve the symptoms. The withdrawl is more severe than any I've seen. It doesnae look good."

Gabriel gave the medic a hard look. They'd all been well aware that something like this might happen.

"There isnae much we can do for him," Beckett admitted.

Gabriel's eyes lifted to the curtained-off bed, behind which Ford was drugged into unconsciousness.

He walked forward, then, despite Beckett's confused questions, knowing that they would follow. Beckett's hand closed on his wrist as he reached for the curtain, and he met the Scot's worried blue eyes. "I can't let ye in there."

Hazel eyes glowed with warmth. "Carson." Gabriel used his given name for the first time; his voice was gentle, different from before. Implacable, soothing. "It will be all right."

Beckett's hand dropped away, and he swallowed. "We're going to lose him," he confessed brokenly. A man who threw his heart into every patient, his spirit felt the blows of each loss.

The smile that met his words gave him heart, though the doctor could never afterward tell why. "No, we won't."

When Gabriel drew back the curtain, the sight that greeted their eyes was not what their Ford's former teammates had imagined. It had been perhaps two hours since they had barreled through the 'gate, yet the loss of flesh and muscle was dramatic. His body was burning away under the force of his addiction. Ford had been cleaned and slipped into scrubs. Though his eyes were closed, the terrible bags and lines on his face sagged into one another in sleep. He looked to be mere steps from death's door. His skin was a pasty gray, sliding loosely over his bones. Restraints were tightly buckled and doubled up; dangling, broken leather gave the reason why.

"Dr. McKay," Gabriel beckoned the other man from where he stood, gaping, at Sheppard's shoulder.

Rodney stared at him.

Gabriel circled to the other side of the bed, as the others ringed their seriously ill friend.

"Damn," Sheppard whispered, knuckles white-clenched on the side of the bed.

"Dr. McKay," Gabriel said again, softly.

"What?" the other asked, eyes glued to his friend. The scientist swallowed, hard, his face tight. He glanced up, caught Gabriel's eye, and balked. "I'm not that kind of doctor," he protested, stepping back.

"Do you want to help him?"

Though there was no accusation, McKay started defensively. "Of course!" he snapped. "But there's nothing I can do. I'm not a doctor – Carson is."

Gabriel looked carefully at him, and extended a hand. "You don't have to be."

McKay looked at him, then at the man sweating on the bed, overridden with fever as his body tried to purge itself, and at the same time, yearned for more of the drug he was being denied. With a soft curse, he stepped forward. "This is insane."

Venner smiled, and guided McKay's hands.

"Now what?" the scientist asked nervously. Ford's heartbeat strained under one palm, fever burning under the other; Gabriel's hands a reassuring weight over his own.

But Gabriel wasn't looking at him. The man's eyes were far away, a spark of gold in their depths that flared into life. McKay gasped, feeling a strange warmth circling through him, pulled from the man whose hands lay gently over his own. It was like feeling lighting pour through your fingers, he mused, staring in surprise down at Ford. A bright white light was glowing, over and around and within, so bright that it illuminated the flesh and bone of his fingers, and that of the hands resting on his.

It was heat, and life, and warmth, soothing and healing as it comforted and purged. It was safety and at the same time frightening.

In it he could see the changes in his friend; the loss of pallor and fever, as the bags under his eyes disappeared into smooth skin. A distant beeping, once fragile in his hearing, grew steady, in time with the strong pumping of the heart beneath his fingers.

McKay blinked as the light surrounding him faded, weight lifting off his hands though the energy still surged through him. He jumped back, then, chafing flesh that should have been hot, or tingling, or . . . something.

"Holy -" Sheppard swallowed, hands slack on his pistol.

McKay took another glance, and couldn't stop staring.

Ford was . . . he looked fine. The last few weeks, overflowing with hardship and addiction, had been erased from his body. He had been rebuilt into the man who had disappeared months ago, the one they had been searching for, and until this moment, hadn't found.

Beckett took a pulse, staring at the sleeping man. He checked, in vain, for any sign of a fever. Then he took a step back, and turned his attention to the man that had been forgotten. "How?"

Gabriel raised a tired brow at the question, quiet though it was.

Beckett frowned at him, taking in a slight pallor, the casual lean against the wall that bespoke weariness.

Sheppard asked it again, this time with a little more certainty. "Are you an Ancient?"

At that, Gabriel snorted. "Certainly not."

Weir stepped forward, features tight and lips pursed, ready for a diplomatic battle. At her side, Sheppard was ready for a physical one. Gabriel looked ready for neither. The head of Atlantis scanned the room, and returned the force of her attention to the SF. Or whoever – whatever – he was. "What are you?"

Ask a straight question, Gabriel mused. "They once called me . . . the Left Hand of God," he answered, quiet caution in every word.

"You're kidding," McKay sputtered.

Gabriel's lips twitched, in what in anyone else would have been called a smile.

Sheppard stared. "The Left Hand of God." Undiluted disbelief, and he glanced at Beckett as if hoping there might be a more rational explanation. One that could preferably be answered by a medical affliction.

Weir looked at him carefully.

"This is a joke, right?"

It _would_ be McKay. "I will admit," Gabriel returned mildly, "Your great-grandfather was endlessly amused by it. After he got over the shock, that is."

McKay stilled, stepping back from Ford's sickbed. "My great-grandfather."

"Carl Wheldon," Gabriel informed him.

McKay shut his mouth, glaring at the SF.

"_Do_ you have a great-grandfather named Carl Wheldon?" Sheppard's curiosity diverted him, and he glanced at the scientist.

"He was a friar," McKay grudgingly admitted. "He was born in America, but left to spend years in Italy. He got married there, and left the clergy. He settled in Massachusetts with his wife – and their children – a few decades after that."

"He was a _friar_?"

"So?" McKay glared at Sheppard, unsuccessfully trying to swallow his laughter.

"He was a good man," Gabriel said softly, pushing down the loss.

McKay stared at him. "You – you knew - "

"Who are you, really?" Weir asked. "What is your real name?" She was staring intently, gathering the pieces to her, trying to figure it out.

The man sat, eyes on Ford. "I am called Gabriel. I have no other."

"Gabriel," Sheppard murmured. "Left Hand of God." He put it together, in a shining moment of knowledge and shock. "The _archangel_?"

At that, the man frowned. "It is only a word," he said sternly. "It does not mean what you think." He let out a frustrated noise. "Language was never intended for this."

"But it's true, then," Weir said quietly.

Gabriel hesitated. "It is not what you think," he cautioned. "But it is the closest you may come to understanding what I am. Yes, it is true."

Teyla was staring at him. "Venner," she said the word quietly. "It means something, in your tongue, does it not?"

Gabriel relaxed a little, onto the bed next to Ford's. "It means 'hunter'."

"What is it that you hunt?"

Perceptive woman. "I am not my brother," Gabriel said forthrightly. "I am the messenger, only."

"What do you hunt?" Sheppard, tense with anxiety.

Gabriel looked at him. "I seek out that which would harm the innocent," he finally replied. "I have destroyed, but I am not truly a Destroyer. I bring the message."

Sheppard sucked in a breath. All that power brought to play against the wraith – and it was only a _warning?_

"Your brother," McKay zeroed in on that statement with all the focus of a missile locking on target.

Gabriel looked at him, then. "You have much of your great-grandfather in you."

"How old _are_ you?"

It was in his eyes when he turned to look at Sheppard; all the years of an eternity, wondrous and painful and clear as day. Apparent to everyone in the room, the age shining from youthful features stilled them all, if only for a moment.

"We have so many questions," Weir stepped forward, speaking for them all.

It was not what he could have anticipated from them, weeks or even days ago. Not this . . . acceptance, the willingness to learn. Ruefully, he thought that he still had much to learn about humanity.

The future was a great deal more than he had imagined it to be.

But for now, he would keep his promise.

_Fin_

* * *

The end sort of crept up on me, which is the main reason I haven't given any prior warnings. :) In my use of the Mark of Cain above, I would like to explicitly state that I am not making any religious or political statement. I am aware that several meanings can be extrapolated from what I wrote; I would simply like to state that I intended it to be ambiguous. 

I hope you've all had as much fun with this story as I have! Maybe, sometime in the unforseen future, there will be more . . .


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